The story never told Book 1: The Wandering Star of Gondolin
by Quetzal2468
Summary: Everyone knows what happened during the War of the Ring, about Sauron, about Morgoth. Everyone knows the names of Galadriel or Fëanor. Everyone knows the story of Lord Glorfindel or so it is thought... Did you know that Glorfindel fell in love long ago? And you won't guess for whom he fell nor her story. Though this is crossover, people had asked me to post it as regular ff. R&R :)
1. Chapter 1

**So… hello again guys around the world!**

 **Here's one of the promised stories: 'The story never told before 1: 'The Wandering Star of Gondolin'**

 **Before this story I wish, as always, make a couple of… warnings, so to speak.**

 **1\. This time I wrote it with the help of Celridel who scholar in Tolkien's universe is, as well as English is her native language and, therefore, she's much better than me in writing.**

 **2\. The original plot is completely mine, but… Celridel had helped me not only as beta but giving me good ideas for the story. I write the chapter but she polishes it and I must say that she's wonderful in that.**

 **3\. This time, a mutant that is not very well-known (at least not like others), Laura Kinney AKA X-23 will be the main character along others. In this story won't be 'too much adventure' as for example in the second stallment of the trilogy 'Mutants in Middle-Earth: The War of the Ring'. However, that doesn't matter that it won't have at all. Especially because it will not only describe the Sack of Gondolin but other fights.**

 **4\. In this crossover will be explained how Laura and Glorfindel met and how they fell in love. Also, there will be another love story which is very well-known: Idril and Túor.**

 **5\. This time the story will be told from different points of views: of the main characters and in the third person of narrator… meaning the common one.**

 **6\. Laura AKA X-23 will have her mutant abilities, but much more enhanced. To who haven't read the second stallment of the trilogy 'Mutants in Middle-Earth: The War of the Ring'; the mutants are indirect descendants of the** _ **Istar**_ **known as 'The Two Blue Wizards', so their skills are enhanced immensely. Also, her story and some other characteristics will be changed in order to create the story.**

 **6\. This is the first part of a series of stories where Laura is the main character and depending of the times, others will be added. However, I want to tell that depending of the reviews and the readers and, in general, of the reaction of the readers, I'll continue with this project.**

 **7\. I promise that I will finish this story with the help of Celridel, but I also want to warn that I won't be able to upload chapters as fast as the stallment 'Mutants in Middle-Earth: The War of the Ring' for different reasons. But is a fact that we will finish it.**

 **About the last stallment of the trilogy 'Mutants in Middle-Earth: A New Shadow Arises', I'm still working on it, but I'm very slowly in that one. That's why I decided to start for a while with this one.**

 **Now, after having said all these… 'warnings'. I hope you enjoy it, moreover because this time a native of English and a great beta is helping me.**

 **So… let's begin!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: Prologue**_

 _"I will never understand these Elf guys! I've been living among them for fifty years. I still don't understand their rules and customs. Why don't they talk the night before the Gates of Summer?_

 _Elves are a rather strange race. I think it would be easier to understand the Dwarves than Elves. Elves are immortal and civilized. They're perfect, and it still gets on my nerves sometimes. Especially when they refer to me as 'fíriel', daughter of the Edain race._

 _But, they only do it when they want to annoy me._

 _They've still don't know what to think of me, I imagine. I'm a human who is immortal and with my characteristics. They've never met anyone like me! To date, the word 'mutant' has not occurred to them. Why? Don't ask me, because as I said before, Elves are a strange race._

 _Part of it is because of moral values. They are very different from our society. For fifty years I have observed, I have noticed it, I have learned it._

 _For example, Time. Time doesn't exist for them. It doesn't matter. Elves are immortal, they have all the time in the world. They don't have to deal with the constant rush that happens on Earth, as all society seeks to achieve goals and aspirations. Time on Earth is a bitter enemy to man, but for these guys ... it means nothing. A day is the same a century._

 _One would think that living like this becomes boring, especially in a place like Gondolin. Gondolin is a city that none can enter, and none can leave. It's a prison, in some respects. King Turgon believes that it is the best means to be safe from the evil that ravages Middle-Earth that is called 'Morgoth'._

 _It was difficult at first. Every day was the same. You find everyone equivalent to the day before. They don't change physically. The only thing to break the monotony was birth of some Elf-Children, the arrival of Túor. Three years ago, he and Princess Idril married. And then, of course, the birth of Ëarendil. But the most wonderful of all the changes is that a week ago Glorfindel declared his love and gave me this necklace he forged especially for me. I'm going to wear beyond death._

 _But, with time you get used to it. At least I did. You find more important activities than running to get to work or to get home to cook or take care of the family. No, you find time for much more activities ... that are more noble, 'higher', as Ecthelion would say. The study of the stars and, in general; of the arts._

 _The Elves do that. Their music is beautiful, they write poems, build new buildings; take care of the environment. They can do this because there is no Time for them. Túor said it best: 'Time is a vestige from the outer world.'_

 _However, even though the elves are certainly a very rare race because they have immortality at hand, not to mention that they are all very beautiful. They are very intelligent; they have an agility, speed, and stamina that can easily compete with mine. They are excellent warriors; excellent architects; their medicine, although only based on herbalism, is very advanced. Elves are a rare race, but they are so cocky! Most of Gondolin's population is composed of the Noldor. These are the smithy-Elves, and they know perfectly well that no one can surpass them in their metal-working abilities. (Except for the Dwarves, but that is an open secret). Many of them have a substantial ego. Among some, it was so great it led them to challenge their gods, the Válar. It's not that I believe in the Válar. I'm an atheist and I have not had any reason to change my mind; However, it's stupid to challenge a god._

 _Their conceit has cost them dearly because they are here now, stranded in Middle-Earth and suffering for their pride. Morgoth has taken care of making their lives miserable._

 _It was Fëanor and his oath that led them here. What a big ego the Noldo must have had at that time, that for a few jewels Fëanor and his children have decided to make an oath that would cost more than they could pay. He must have been unbearable. Poor Nerdanel! In fact, I do not think those Facility bastards were so greedy as to kill their own people for jewels. The Silmarils were for the Elves, the Heel of Achilles. Many of them also left a paradisiacal place called Válinor, similar to modern Earth's Eden. They abandoned it to get their own kingdoms. The Válar tried to stop them, but the proud elves did not want to listen and went through many hardships. For example, Glorfindel and most of the inhabitants here had to go through a frozen hell, the 'Pass of Helcarexë', where sadly the wife of King Turgon died._

 _That's a short story about the Noldor. They look down their noses at everyone who isn't their own races. Except for Túor. He's a good guy, and he even won the heart of the Princess Idril, which wasn't easy._

 _About me…? My temper hasn't helped me much, neither my past nor my claws ... what has helped me is my healing factor and my immortality as a mutant. But the Elves haven't figured out a way to classify me yet. Most consider me a resident of Gondolin. I train new recruits, I have my own house. I even have some respect, but I don't think I'll ever be as dear to them as Túor._

 _But Glorfindel, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, one of the best warriors of all Gondolin, the darling of this whole city, has fallen in love with me. That might earn me some points in their book._

 _Every time I remember Glorfindel giving me his Fëa...something happens. I feel warm and safe and, my God, so happy! After twenty years of loving him in secret, I discovered it wasn't unrequited. He doesn't care about my past, nor my temper, nor my claws. He only sees me: Laura Kinney, his beloved Wandering Star._

 _That's something I have to accept, Elves can be very patronizing. They feel they are the first born of Zeus, unique in every way, even down to their concepts of love and marriage._

 _I don't want to marry Glorfindel because it will elevate my rank, although I admit that the idea doesn't displease me. I have no intention of marrying him, so I belong to nobility, but because I really love him. Even if he was an ugly Elf (which is a paradoxical statement) and if he were poor, I would still be happy with him._

 _But back to Elven marriage, Elves perceive it as sacred. It surprised me at first. Back on Earth, cheap flicks are normal, but Elves declare their love to last for all eternity._

 _It's the same with sexual relations. When I told Glorfindel about of brothels and pornography ... hahaha! You would have seen his face! Elves are strictly puritanical about sex because, for them, it's equal to marriage. So, any bachelor or bachelorette Elf is a virgin. Yes! It's true! Even if they're a millennia old!_

 _To conclude, Túor and I can consider ourselves the most fortunate of all humans. And talking about love, I am now the happiest person in the world. Glorfindel loves me too, just as I love him. I better finish this quickly. Yesterday he asked me to join him on the Eastern wall so that we can sing together for the first time and join the Elves' choir to welcome the first dawn of summer so that the party of Tarnin Austa can begin!_

* * *

Laura came running to the Eastern wall of the Hidden City. During those fifty years, she had learned to walk silently, almost as noiselessly as the Elves, which was excellent, especially for those festivities. The Elves took silence very seriously on the twenty-first of June, the day of the Gates of Summer.

She climbed quickly up the stairs, heading towards the place where she and Glorfindel had agreed to meet the night before.

The Elf-Lord was already there, staring out over the misty fields of Tumladen. His thick gold hair was loose. Laura loved his hair. It made her think of warmth and fire. No circlet adorned his brow, but he was wearing the colors of his house. There were celandine flowers sprinkled across the mantle on his broad shoulders like he had taken a field in spring and draped it over himself. He wore sturdy boots, and although this was a time of peace, his vambraces were on his arms. The gold _chape_ of his sword-scabbard looked out from under his mantle.

Laura stopped on the edge of the states and watched him for a second. She had no words to describe his beauty, and even less the beauty of his heart. For forty years he had been able to see through a layer of stone that encased her heart. People couldn't hurt her if her heart was hard. It had worked. For some more than others, but it worked.

But Glorfindel had been a different matter. He had never given up, but slowly delved his way through that layer of smooth obsidian and discovered the real Laura Kinney. He had put aside the mutant, murderer, mercenary, and X-Men, known as X-23, and had only regarded Laura Kinney. And he had not been content with it, he had shown her that she was more than even than she had thought in her wildest dreams. He had helped to her change. Once, her ruler was anger or revenge. Now, her guiding star was love, directed towards only one. Him. Lord Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, whose heart was as golden as his hair.

Oh! She could well be considered the luckiest of both mutants and men. That this proud warrior-Elf would look past the fair ladies of Gondolin to a strong-tempered, unattractive mutant. Mule-stubborn and difficult instead of the winsomeness, he had fixated his heart on her. Laura was lucky, more than lucky; and every time she saw him, her love for him increased ... if that was possible.

He turned towards her, his blue eyes bright. Laura had arrived, and for the first time in fifty years, they would sing together to welcome Summer.

He approached her, and kissed her left hand tenderly, on the knuckles where her claws would have protruded. Laura shivered. She knew this was his way of showing his infinite confidence and love to her. When he looked up, he smiled, intoxicatingly warm and bright.

Laura sensed as she always did, that he beheld a great measure of beauty.

For him, she had dressed in a silken green dress, the edges of the wide sleeves and the neckline hemmed with silver. Her hair was loose, black and soft, something he loved. On her chest shone the necklace of mithril, the pledge of love that he had given her a week earlier.

When Lord Glorfindel saw it, he gently passed one of his fingers around the outline of a horse, his beloved's favorite animal; while, with the other, he gently squeezed the left hand of his love who blushed. This done, he led her to the place where he had been standing.

Neither of them had exchanged a single word, in the observance of tradition, but they both felt love. She leaned her head on his broad chest and closed her eyes as they stood there.

Suddenly, Glorfindel felt a slight shudder and he looked down, into Laura's wide green eyes. She turned her frightened gaze from him and gazed around the fields below. Her body tensed. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The dawn breeze was cool on their faces, wafting every few moments in soft gusts.

Her eyes sprang open. She released his hand and leaned over the wall. When the wind blew, she would grow rigid, concentrating on whatever smell it brought her. Every movement was made with more and more fear.

Her hands clenched into fists. She began to run, up into a higher spire. Glorfindel caught her by the hand and whispered in her ear, a voice taut with concern.

"What's wrong?"

She swallowed, her pupils dilated with fear.

"Glorfindel, something terrible is coming. Something foul. I've sensed it, I've smelled it!"

"What is it?" he asked urgently.

Stars were pale in the sky; the heavens were purple across the _Echoriath_. And the sunrise song burst out, sweet notes rising true and clear to greet the fiery sun of Summer's dawn. The keening of silver trumpets rang out loud in ancient custom.

Then across the jagged peaks came a red flame and dyed the mountains red with blood. There was the noise of thunder, and standing upon a great peak, a crimson dragon lifted back its head and roared.

Silence fell. The songs failed in the singers' throats. Terror gripped the city with iron claws.

And across the reddened peaks, there stood black figures, an army, a mighty army of despair. Dragons roared among them, war-machines and mighty trolls. Balrogs shrieked for the rape of Gondolin.

There were mustered all the legions of Mordor, and their braying horns echoed dimly in dark Echoriath's sides.

Dragon-fire burned the sky and seared the clouds.

The Sack of Gondor had begun.

* * *

 **Well, this is the 'beginning' which, actually starts with the end… or almost the end.**

 **Waiting your reviews guys!**


	2. The beginning

**Hi people!**

 **We've seen the beginning of the sad end of Gondolin, but… how everything started? What happened? That's what we're going to see.**

 **And as always, I want to thank Celridel for her immense help.**

 **Waiting your reviews guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2: The beginning**_

 _*Fifty years before the fall of Gondolin._

Like a fine mist, the grey sky above them shed rain, and it splashed on the flagstones of Gondolin's forecourt.

In the center of the court, a tall Elf stood, silvered and steely, with a white diamond upon his brow to bind back his black hair. Before him was a young scout of the Grey-Elf race. His green and brown garments portrayed him as a scout.

"Tell me what you have found," Ecthelion said gravely. The scout was one of his, one of the ten that served under the Lord of the Fountains and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

And scouts and warriors were needed alike and in plenty. The years grew evil. Morgoth _'The Enemy'_ , sought to destroy all and spread his darkness over the world.

The Elves had suffered greatly under the attacks of the Dark Lord, and it was from them that Morgoth had created his most numerous servants.

But within the _Hidden City_ , the Firstborn could live in relative peace. Morgoth was not yet aware of its existence, for Gondolin was surrounded by the Echoriath mountain-range, and the Great Eagles of Thorondor dwelt in the Crissaegrim and kept the spies of Morgoth from discovering the location of Gondolin.

However, the inhabitants of Gondolin did send out scouts and runners, and it was from one of these patrols the young Sinda had returned.

He bowed, the wet leather creaking.

"I am Langion, son of Agaren, and I speak to serve. Lord Ecthelion, we have found a company of Orcs."

Behind Ecthelion, his grey mare stamped uneasily and snorted.

The Sinda continued. "No more than two miles from here, but they are dead."

Ecthelion's forehead furrowed.

"Ah." was all he murmured, absently stroking his horse.

"Why so downhearted, my friend?" asked a cheerful voice. Ecthelion turned towards Glorfindel.

The half-Vanya nodded to the scout and then to his friend. He was dressed in light armor, plated with gold and in his belt hung a sword that had few rivals. His face was young, keen and beautiful and his arms banded with gold. His Sun-colored hair hung to his waist, its hue in no way muted by the constant rain.

Ecthelion gestured to the scout. "Langion, pray repeat your report."

"We have found a company of Orcs, my Lords, upon the Cristhorn." repeated the Sinda quietly. "But they are slain. I have already spoken with the other scouts and warrior's parties, and none have ventured that way for over a week."

"Then let us see," replied Ecthelion.

They had traveled through Tumladen's grasses to the foot of the Cristhorn, the fogs bewildering in the plains. At the bottom of the cliff lay a slaughter-pit of carcasses, around which the other scouts were already gathered.

"They are all dead, my Lords," called a female Elf, rolling a corpse over with her boot.

"That is well." answered Glorfindel but added to Ecthelion in a low voice. "I would rather know what they were slain by."

Ecthelion nodded but said nothing as they approached the carcasses. It stank of rotting flesh-even the rain could not wash that stench away. Standing over the body of an outlying Orc, he examined the killing wound carefully. The creature's face was split in half. Black blood ran in puddles, diluted with water. Ecthelion approached the next. This one had its right hand severed, and the other mutilated. In its chest were two thin punctures, as if those made by a rapier. The last one was cut in half, its entrails spilling out over the stone.

"This was a slaughter," muttered Glorfindel behind him.

"A slaughter indeed," said the older Elf. "But they did not do this themselves. Someone, who was not among them, killed them ... massacred them. Look here," he added, pointing towards the first corpse he had examined. "The weapon used to do this must have a sharp edge indeed. A rapier, I would imagine, by how thin the blade appears to be."

"Two," suggested Glorfindel.

Ecthelion nodded agreement.

"It is a war-wise being who has done this. But look. Elven warriors mortally wound their enemy, but never so ... "

"Bloodthirsty?" Glorfindel said, looking around him.

"Bloodthirsty" repeated Ecthelion "Only the hosts of Morgoth are as cruel."

"We may deal on that later. I wonder who it was."

The female who had spoken earlier approached them.

"I am Inrusc, daughter of Calel. May I speak?"

Ecthelion nodded to the wood-crafty Elf. "Do."

"The fighter left tracks because of the rain. There was only one." Inrusc said, crouching down and pointing to almost invisible markings. "It is the foot of a mortal."

"Not an Elf?" questioned Glorfindel.

She looked up.

"Not, not an Elf! Similar, yes, but not quite. See how the mark crushes down the grass?"

"This is ill news," said Ecthelion. "That a man has discovered a whereabouts."

Glorfindel shook his head, unconvinced.

"I doubt that even a very valiant mortal could defeat a score of Orcs. Only the Elves could, and they still are hard-pressed."

"Be that as it may, we must first discover the warrior. The tracks lead back towards the Echoriath." interrupted Ecthelion. "Let us follow them."

The lush grasses of Tumladen swayed about them. Clusters of willows and aspens grew by the edges of the Encircling Mountain, and it was through these the parties walked. Inrusc and Langion went in front to follow the tracks, but these stopped abruptly in front of a gnarled willow, with a broad trunk and tall crown.

The two trackers bent their heads together in muttered consultation, and then Langion swung nimbly up into the tree, a knife clamped between his teeth.

A few moments later, he dropped through the green leaves. After sheathing his knife, he stood up.

"Captains, there was an object in the fields. It is no more than two miles away. I have no doubt the trail will go straight to it."

* * *

It was less than an hour when they reached a small glade, surrounded by white willows. Over the pitter-patter of raindrops shaken from sodden leaves was the sound of labored gasps and moans.

Glorfindel held up his hand, and unsheathing _Culumaica_ , quickly made his way through the thick grasses. In a low dene, a figure lay on its face, and on its back was a bleeding wound. It was trembling, grinding its teeth between groans of pain. With the flat of his blade, he carefully flipped the body over. It was a human woman.

Ecthelion was approaching him.

"By Manwë," muttered Glorfindel, looking down at the face of the woman by his feet. "A woman, here? How comes it?"

He sheathed _Culumaica_ and knelt down.

It was a female in the summer of her life. Her figure was slim and hard, and her skin pale and covered with sweat. Her face was masterful, but not beautiful. Her hair was tangled, but was black, the same shade as her attire. She wore tight leggings, and a low-cut upper garments and a wide belt with a silver buckle emblazoned by a large X.

"Where do you think she comes from?" asked Ecthelion.

Glorfindel did not answer but instead held up one of the woman's cold hands.

"It is covered with blood. Orc gore, to be definite," he said soberly. Blood was spattered over her, hardly noticeable because of the darkness of her apparel.

Ecthelion overlooked the incongruity of this statement for the present.

"Does she have a weapon?"

"No." Glorfindel paused. "She's wounded gravely. An arrowhead embedded in her back. I cannot tell if it is poisoned. Orc arrows often are."

The Noldo looked down at the woman with thoughtful grey eyes.

"Nestaë is a skilled healer. She should be able to extract it."

Hearing this, Glorfindel looked up angrily.

"In the name of the stars, that is truly folly! Are you mad, that you would take a strange mortal to our city?"

"We have no other choice, Glorfindel. Listen, "he continued. "We must know how the Orcs could get to the Tumladen, and how she came to cross the Echoriath? How did they escape Thorondor's sight?"

"And if she is a spy?" demanded Glorfindel.

"Even if she is, she is in no state to do anything against us. She is burning with fever. No, she is truly ill."

Glorfindel looked at the woman with a hard face. Ecthelion spoke right. If they left her, she would die.

"Listen to me out. If she is a spy, her companions may try to follow us. But it will gain them nothing. None can pass through the Gates save those who know the secret words. Nestaë will try to save her life, both for the knowledge that she can give us and out of... compassion."

Glorfindel sighed. He distrusted those who were not of his Folk, and even less, those who came unbidden to the city he had sworn to protect with his life. But a true warrior had compassion.

"Very well. We have the whip hand, without a doubt." he said, "But we must blindfold her."

* * *

 **So, Lord Ecthelion had managed to convince Lord Glorfindel of taking Laura to Gondolin. What will happen there?**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**


	3. Strange things

**Hello world!**

 **Now Laura is in Gondolin but badly injured. Will her body will be able to heal by itself? And what about the elves? What will they think about her?**

 **As always, I want to thank to Celridel for her help.**

 **Waiting your reviews guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3: Strange things**_

As soon as they passed through the Steel Gate, Lord Glorfindel took a different route, up to the palace of the King. Ecthelion carried the woman to the House of Healing. An Elf-maid in the garb of an apprentice, opened the doors for him and led him inside.

Ecthelion nodded to her as they climbed the flight of stairs. "Where is the Mistress of Healing?"

She drew her eyes with an effort away from the face of his burden.

"Lady Nestaë is in the herb-room. This way, my Lord."

The woman tossed in Ecthelion's arms. She had the pallor of a dead man, but her face was rigid and covered in sweat. From time to time, she tossed and moaned, babbling out some incoherent words.

Ecthelion followed the young healer quickly, as his burden moaned.

* * *

Nestaë was a _Nolde_ and the chief Healer of all great Gondolin. Her knowledge of healing was unsurpassed, and it was said her hands were blessed directly by the Válar because of her gentleness. She had first been noted by Turgon during the cold crossing of the Helcaraxë, in which she showed her clear mind and self-control. Many of the Elves had suffered during that icy hell, and with the death of Elenwë and others, the Elves grew weary and disheartened. It had been Nestaë that distributed food, healed the wounds icy winds had inflicted and heartened her miserable fellows. And when Turgon the Wise had been able to see through his tears, he made her the Chief Healer.

Nestaë had faced other challenges and dealt with them wisely. The return of Turgon after the great battles of the _Dagor Aglareb_ and the _Dagor Bragollach_. Her strong mind and patient temper made her invaluable.

* * *

"Here she is, my Lord," said the maiden, opening the door. It was a small room where Nestaë was hanging up herbs to dry. She was not tall, but there was a quiet confidence in her bearing that made even the rashest warrior heed her. Her hair was light brown, combed into a thick braid that kept her hair away from her face but also gave her elegance. She was dressed in green, with a golden crest upon her girdle that signified her rank.

She bowed when she saw Ecthelion.

"My Lord."

Ecthelion held out the woman in his arms.

"Nestaë. Nestaë, I need you to heal this woman."

Nestaë did not waste time on questions.

"A mortal," she said, brushing past Ecthelion, but her eyes were dissimilar to the diffidence in her voice. "Come with me. I will show you an empty room."

"Yes, a mortal," answered Ecthelion, his long strides quickly catching up with the healer's shorter, although brisker steps. "Nestaë, can you heal her?"

"I do not know," she answered, hurrying down a sunlit hallway. "Where is the wound?

"Nestaë, I need you to save her," Ecthelion pleaded. "She is the only sign we have to unravel a mystery. She was shot in the back, and the arrowhead is still embedded."

Nestaë stopped him.

"An Elf arrow?" she said with discerning satire.

Ecthelion swallowed, looking down at this woman who had the strength of an oak in the body of an acorn.

"No. An Orc arrow. But do not speak of it! We cannot alarm Gondolin."

"I did not hear it," she said resolutely and opened the door. "But the wound is poisoned. Lay her down here, my Lord."

She bent over the woman, as Ecthelion watched by the doorway.

"There is indeed an arrow-head in her back. But I do not know if I can save her, even if I extract it now. She is burning with fever, and her heart is irregular." She shook her head. "She is a mortal. They are not as strong as our race. But, I will do everything in my power to save her."

"I trust you," said Ecthelion quietly.

Nestaë nodded in acknowledgment and began to quietly gather her instruments. This would be a challenge, even for her.

* * *

Turgon stood upon the balcony, dressed in gold and white. Below him, Idril sang in the gardens, and he smiled. The sky was grey, and the rain still sang on the fountains, but Idril loved the rain and sang with it, a sound that brought joy to his heart. Here, he had founded Gondolin, so that the child who had lost her mother could be guarded by indomitable stone.

"My Lord Turgon."

The High King turned to him. A ruby-throated hummingbird flitted past the vining flowers.

"I have troubling news." said Glorfindel, pausing a respectful distance from his King.

Turgon nodded slowly.

"That is ever the fate of kingship. But must it be on so."

"I fear so. I have come straight away to tell you. There was a company of Orcs that crossed the Echoriath. We discovered them was slain at the foot of the Cristhorn." Glorfindel drew in a breath, fearing the King might think him mad.

"They did not slay themselves, nor did the Great Eagles find them. It was a seasoned warrior, but a bloodthirsty one. But that is not all the news."

"And who do you think could have done such a thing?" asked Turgon softly. Beneath the robes, _Glamdring_ was still at his belt, a reminder he was more than a King, but also a hale warrior.

"Lord Glorfindel thinks she was a woman." answered a clear voice. Lord Ecthelion stood in the archway, his attire stained with the blood of his burden.

Glorfindel was tall, but Turgon was taller, and his gaze was cynical.

"A woman?" he repeated

"My Lord Turgon," said Glorfindel. "I am aware that this sounds unlikely. But she has covered in Orc gore...mainly her knuckles. But," he added hesitantly. "She had no other weapon."

"You and I will speak later. Where is she now?"

"In the Houses of Healing," answered Ecthelion, coming to his friend's aid. Glorfindel was stiff with chagrin. "Nestaë is trying to save her life. An arrow was embedded in her back. She thinks it is poisoned. In the case that Lord Glorfindel was right, I have left guards in the room, five of my finest warriors."

Quick footsteps were heard at that moment, and the young maid that had guided Ecthelion darted through the doorway, her breathing hard.

"My Lords," she gasped. "Mistress Nestaë requires your presence. Now, my Lords!"

* * *

The Lords of Gondolin were yet in the hallway when they heard Nestaë's cool voice commanding all to leave the room. The High King went past the guards and opened the door.

The woman was on the bed, writhing and shaking in violent fits. Her legs kicked wildly at the sheets, and her back was arched. Guttural choking noises came from her twisted mouth, stained with black froth.

Nestaë was standing by the bedside, watching her with grim resolution.

"No, stay back," she said crisply. "If we hold her we will injure her more."

"What happened?" Turgon asked.

"My King, we extracted the arrowhead from her back. It was poisoned, soaked in poison from what I see." She held out the barbed steel gingerly. "Do not prick yourself," she said, laying it in Ecthelion's outstretched hand. "This is a vile poison in great measure. It is strange that a woman could survive it." Her voice remained cool, but her eyes searched for answers. She could not find any in their faces. "After I removed the arrowhead and was about to cleanse the wound, she began to convulse and froth at the mouth. I know little about the body of men. All we can do now is wait for it to end."

"And when will that be?" Asked Ecthelion.

"I do not know. Most likely, death will end it." she ended gravely.

Glorfindel looked past her. "Then, is she dead?"

Nestaë turned around. Slowly the violent convulsions ceased until the sufferer lay limp on the bed. The healer approached carefully and rolled the woman onto her side. She looked up at the Lords, and then down again.

"Now this is a knotty problem," she muttered. "The wound has disappeared."

"Disappeared?" demanded Glorfindel in disbelief.

Nestaë inclined her head with vague impatience.

"See for yourself."

The warrior approached on the balls of his feet, ready for attack. There was not even a scar on the woman's back.

The woman shuddered. Nestaë flipped her hurriedly on her back and stepped away, waiting for the convulsions to begin, but there was no fit. Instead, black sweat broke from the clammy skin.

"Give me that bin." said the healer, bending over her patient. Glorfindel grabbed the receptacle and held it out. Nestaë dipped a rag in the water and wrung it and began to wipe the sweat from the woman's arms and forehead. It was dark and viscous, with a foul odor.

"Another cloth and a bin," she said calmly.

Immediately the objects were handed to her, and she dried away the black tears that welled from under the woman's closed eyes. They too were black and oil. After wiping her mouth, she opened the door and called out. "Nëume, watch her!"

The maid was standing with the guards in attendance and came in quickly. Nestaë left the room, making a gesture for the three Lords to follow her into the next room.

* * *

Once out of hearing, she stopped, holding up three clothes.

"Look at these, if you will." She told them

"They reek of orc poison," said Glorfindel immediately

"Indeed. These are from her spittle, tears, and sweat. They are dark in color and smell of poison."

"What is your intent, Nestaë?" asked Turgon.

"I believe, good King, that her body is healing itself. Sweat, tears, vomit and spittle are means by which the body rids itself of harmful substances." Nestaë explained. "I do not know much about the mortal body, but I do know this much. This is why, when one is ill..."

Her words were interrupted by a retching sound and Nëume entered the room. "She is vomiting. It is also black."

Nestaë put her hand on the apprentice's back and hurried from the room.

* * *

"I tried to clean away her sweat and tears," explained the young Elf. "Little by little, they grew lighter in color until they were natural. But she was still tossing and babbling, so I put cold cloths on her brow. But when I about gave her a simple to bring down her fever, she began to vomit."

Her eyes were worried. Nestaë smiled comfortingly.

"You did well."

She approached the bed, to see the woman hunched over a large bin, retching continuously.

" _Dagniul_ ," the healer muttered to herself. "That is the poison the Orcs made us of."

The woman stopped vomiting and fell back heavily on the bed, her eyes tightly shut.

Nestaë reviewed her vital signs.

"The fever has disappeared," she said at last, "Her heart is stable, but she is still insensible. We must let her rest as long as possible."

Turgon sighed and turned to Ecthelion. "Can you spare other five of your soldiers?"

Ecthelion looked hesitant.

"I can, but these five are well-trained. They can care for one sick woman."  
"I will not have my city at risk." answered Turgon sternly. _I will never put Idril in peril._

"It shall be done," answered the Lord of Fountains.

The High-King nodded and looked to Nestaë. "Send a messenger as soon as she wakes."

"It shall be done." echoed the healer.

Turgon looked at the form on the bed for another moment. _Will she be the downfall of my City? If she brings harm to Celebrindal…my vengeance will be slow and terrible._ He turned to his companions. "Come. I need you to recount the full tale of how you found her. Then we must summon a Council."

On their way from the House, Ecthelion stopped and ordered one of his guards to go and bring back another five of his soldiers.

Nestaë began to clean the woman's face, her own expression impassive. Her patient was breathing normally, but occasionally a groan escaped her, and her face distorted in bouts of pain.

The healer shook her head inwardly. This was a strange creature. It was a mystery, a mystery that she hoped would be unveiled soon, for the safety of the city.

* * *

 **Seems that Laura's mutation has managed to get the 'miracle' of healing itself even if the point of the arrow was embedded in her for so long time. What will happen next?**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	4. Awakening

**Hi people!**

 **Now that Laura has awoken, what will be her reaction? And more importantly, what will be the elves' reaction?**

 **As always, I want to thank especially to Celridel for her help.**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4: Awakening**_

 **Laura's POV**

 _'I think I woke up to the mother of all hangovers. Which is weird. It's very difficult for me to get drunk._

 _But, maybe I did. I can't remember, but everything hurts. Hell, even my eyelids hurt. They feel swollen shut._

 _This room smells of herbs. Not drugs or my head would be in worse shape. I think they are medicinal. And there are people. They smell weird, but I can smell their adrenaline. They are probably guards. Ah, there's a clank. They're carrying weapons. Guns?_

 _Then there's a disgusting smell. Like the weapons of those creatures. I remember now._

 _After I killed them...dammit. Someone must have found me. I think I'm in a hospital. But why the guards? My claws were retracted, and I didn't have a weapon._

 _Okay, then I'm in a hospital, and the owner doesn't trust me._

 _Someone is moving. I can hear clothes rustling. And now there's talking. I can't put my finger on the language._

 _Son of a…. This is a strange position. I'm going to open my eyes and finish assessing the situation. After that, maybe I'll pretend I'm harmless, or I'll run away. It depends who has me._

* * *

"My lady," called Nëume gently. "She has awakened."

Nestaë straightened from her work and approached her patient. The woman's green eyes were open, but she was lying absolutely still, except for the rise and fall of her chest. At Nestaë's movement, her eyes fastened on the healer.

The Chief Healer touched Nëume.

"Send a message to the King, young one. Tell him the woman has awakened."

At the sound of her voice, the woman frowned slightly, but it did not escape Nestaë's eyes. After Nëume left, she stood over the mortal. "How do you feel?"

The woman did not answer and submitted silently as Nestaë reviewed her heartbeat and breathing.

She began to look around the room, observing the guards outside the door carefully.

"Are you well enough to sit up?" asked Nestaë, with no great warmth in her voice.

The woman looked expressionlessly at her for a moment and then pushed herself up.

Nestaë took a cup from the bedside table. "It is a tincture that will add to your strength. Drink it."

The woman took the cup and smelled it, and then shoved it back to Nestaë.

Nestaë was not used to being so refused.

"I said, drink it." the healer replied quietly. "Do so."

Her patient dodged quickly around Nestaë's hand.

The Healer faced the mortal, noting that her eyes were fixed curiously on her ears. She raised her eyebrows.

"Did you know it was uncouth to stare? I am a daughter of the _Quendi_. Leaf-shaped ears are a mark of the Firstborn."

The woman arched an eyebrow skeptically in return.

"Let us pass." said a voice outside, and King Turgon entered, followed by Glorfindel and Ecthelion.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

' _I am in a hospital. But this one seems devoid of stretchers, electric lights and all the classic characteristics of a sanatorium. No, it's warm here, and sunny, and there are herbs that I've never seen. Maybe it's because I'm still dizzy._

 _There are also guards. They're dressed in plate-mail. But, it's much different from medieval armor. It's light, I can see that, from how quickly they move._

 _In addition to my bodyguards, I have two nurses. Their dialect is foreign, but also musical. I could understand their director, but she spoke in a different language._

 _There are not many pointy objects here. I think they carefully hid those away. My boots on a chair. Maybe I could knock out the little nurse with those, but the other one looks tougher. Anyways, I'd have to use my claws against the guards. The window is large, but it would be a tight squeeze, and I don't know how high up I am._

 _There are ten guards, and I'm still weak. Ten to one isn't fun anytime, and I'm still weak. My chances of success average to 10%._

 _It's best to wait._

 _I'm beginning to think this staff is composed of angels. They walk silently, they're beautiful, and they have a very musical language. One of the nurses asked me how I feel, I think. That's what interns typically do._

 _Maybe the guards are the archangels. Where's Michael?_

 _Hell, this isn't heaven. Saint Peter would run from me. Heaven is for good people. I'm never going to get there._

 _The nurse's ears are pointy! Damn, they really are. What the hell! Where am I? I don't remember any of Raphael's cherubs having pointy ears. That's characteristic of Elves. The nurse doesn't like me staring at her ears. Ha! Bad luck, nursie._

 _The poison is stronger than I've thought. It must affect the brain as well. Ah, the plot thickens. Three seraphim have just entered. One's a blondie, who doesn't appear very sympathetic towards me. Ha! Time to appraise these angels._

* * *

King Turgon had listened with great concern to the tale of the two Elf-lords told. The account of the Orc corpses troubled him. Such cruelty was only for the Darkness.

The woman was his greatest concern. She was a creature like he had never seen. She was weak and a foreigner, that much was clear, but would he stake Gondolin, and Idril's safekeeping, on the life of one human, doomed to die within a hundred years?

The Orc company did not trouble half so much, but the strange mortal truly worried him. He listened attentively, unwilling to make a judgment without the Council, whilst judging his Lords' emotions towards the woman.

Ecthelion seemed sympathetic towards the woman's plight. The Elf-Lord had an open heart towards all Free Races, and he hoped that she would live. But Glorfindel was unfriendly towards her. He was convinced that the mortal was a terrible and bloodthirsty woman, perhaps even a spy of the Nameless One.

The sound of slippered feet of marble interrupted them. Nëume's black hair was loosed from her apprentice's hairstyle with her speed.

"My Lords, I bring a message from the House of Healing. The woman has awakened."

* * *

When the Lords arrived, they found that the woman sitting on the bed. Nestaë was sitting beside her, holding a cup. The mortal turned and look at them impassively, her face and eyes blank of all emotion.

Turgon now looked a king, with the coronet of red garnets upon his black hair, and his face grave and powerful.

"I am Turgon _'The Wise'_ , High King of the Noldor, and Lord of Gondolin. Who are you that dares to trespass within hidden realms?"

The woman stared at him with green eyes. and did not answer.

Fingolfin's mighty son pointed to himself.

"Turgon _'The Wise'_." He laid his hand on Ecthelion's shoulders and then Glorfindel. "Ecthelion, Lord of Fountains. Glorfindel, Chieftain of the House of the Golden Flower."

The woman did not respond. Her face was impassive but not vacant, and her eyes unexpressive.

Nestaë stood up.

"Gracious King, this is a response to the ordeal the woman has undergone. She may not speak for some time. It is common that minds will be disturbed." she added, with a glance at the woman. The black-haired mortal stared back with calm unreadability.

Tottering slightly, the woman slid off the edge of the bed, holding onto the frame to keep from falling, and stared inquisitively at Ecthelion's ears. The Lord of the Fountain stood still.

"She was puzzled by my ears," continued Nestaë. "And I am not the only one, I see."

The woman after having contemplated Ecthelion, approached Glorfindel, still holding onto the bedstead. Glorfindel looked at her all the warmth of the Grinding Ice and stepped away.

"Glorfindel, friend, do not leave," said Turgon softly. "She may have never seen the _Quendi_ before, and her wonder is natural."

Glorfindel looked at his King incredulously.

"If that is so, Lord, how could she be from Arda?" he demanded.

The woman let go of the bed-frame, her arms stretched to their full lengths as she tried to reach Glorfindel. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Carefully, Ecthelion helped her up and placed her back on the bed.

"Has she eaten anything?" asked Turgon.

"No. Neither did she want to drink the tincture prepared. She does not trust us, as we do not trust her."

"And we do well to do thus," muttered Glorfindel. "We know nothing of her."

"If she will not drink the brew, do not force her. But feed her, we need her in good health for the Council," answered Turgon to Nestaë, ignoring Glorfindel's discontent.

He left the room and did not look back as his companions followed. _Ulmo, you have guided me to build this city. I pray you, do not let it fall through my soft-heartedness. I will do anything to protect my child._

* * *

 **Glorfindel's POV**

 _'Since I have seen her, I have had no confidence in this mortal. I am certain that she did slay the_ _ **orcor**_ _. She is a seasoned warrior: dangerous and savage. She almost succeeded in misleading our scouts._

 _And now I see her awake, my distrust has only grown. She is cold and impassive, and I hate that._

 _The only thing she showed interest in was our ears, or so she wanted it to seem that she was measuring our skills. She is a bane to our city'._

* * *

 **Ecthelion's POV**

' _Glorfindel loathes the woman, but he is young and impassioned towards anything that endangers his city._

 _I doubt that she slew the_ _ **orcor**_ _. That would have taken a strong warrior, and the woman who cannot stand does not look like._

 _Her inexpressive face puzzled me, but Nestaë has the right of it, I think. That woman is still a child, by Elven standards, and she has suffered shock, enough to make the stronger of the Edain still be disturbed in mind. No doubt she will soon recover._

 _The only sign of a conscious spirit inside her body was her reaction to our ears. It was childish, but it was an emotion that I am glad to see and is in keeping with her race._

 _I will not judge against her at the Council. I do not believe she is dangerous, but neither do I trust her. But, we can show her kindness'_

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _'If seraphim have pointy ears, then I am in heaven. But heaven doesn't exist, and if it did, I would be sent straight on to hell. There's a lot of blood on my hands._

 _No, I won't think about it, not now._

 _I was introduced to the three most formidable beings, whether they're Elves or Angels. There was Turgon, who wore a crown of garnets and a golden girdle. I assume he is the King. The other two are high-ranking, I should guess, more so than the guards, judging by their armor._

 _The guards belong to this Ecthelion. They both have the symbol of a diamond surrounded by fountains on their breastplate._

 _And then there's Blondie. Glorfindel doesn't care for me, and I could see it in his face. He thought I could stand up just fine. Turgon and Ecthelion might not trust me, but they don't dislike me the way Blondie does._

 _One thing is a certainty: all three are strong warriors and they'll be a pain in the ass to fight. If I do get past the guards, I know these three are experienced and strong. The best I can do right now is stay put, it won't help me to fight, not in this condition. Besides, I'm hungry ... oh, good! Time to eat!'_

* * *

 **Seems that Laura had decided for the tactic of having a façade that she doesn't understand at all what's happening around her, however her cunning and agile mind is working in what's she going to do next.**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**


	5. The Council

**Hello world!**

 **Now it's time for the Elf-lords, the chieftains of the Eleven Houses of Gondolin to discuss about the strange discovery of Lord Ecthelion and Lord Glorfindel, as well as the presence of Laura.**

 **Let's see what each one has to say and the King's decision.**

 **As always, I want to thank Celridel for her help as beta, as well as invite all the readers to leave your reviews.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5: The Council**_

The sunlight of high noon streamed through wide windows in a flood of silent gold. The rains had given way to a day of early summer.

The High-Council chamber was made of marble, a hall of fluted pillars and delicate arches and wide windows through sun-heat or moon-cool passed with equal ease.

Gathered inside were the Chieftains of Gondolin, their faces as stony as the table before.

Turgon _'The Wise'_ sat at the head, grave and resplendent in red, white and gold. On his crest, he bore the Moon, the sun of the House of Finwë and the scarlet heart of Fingolfin. In his girdle, he wore the blade of Glamdring, and his hand the Staff of Doom.

On his right hand was a young Elf with eyes of repressed black. His hair was of raven also, and he was dressed in unblazoned sable. In a sheath of dark and virgin leather lay _Anguirel_ , forged from a fallen star. In his face, there was some semblance to the features of the King, recalling close kinship.

Beside him was Salgant, Lord of the House of the Harp. He too wore sable, though there was a white harp blazoned upon his chest. His pale eyes were dimmed by sedentary living, the Light in them tarnished by the soft flesh around his eyes.

Beyond Salgant was an Elf much different. He was slender, with a countenance like an eagle, and his eyes, pale blue, shone with a fierce expression. He sat erect as if looking from a lofty mountain crag. His cloak was dark blue, and his tunic purple, charged with the white arrowhead. In the braids of his black hair were white feathers. He was Duilin, the greatest archer of Gondolin and Chieftain of the House of the Swallow.

To Turgon's left was then Eglamoth, who girded with a curved sword, strange among the Noldor, and clad in a blue mantle upon embroidered with crystal stars. He wore an opal in his helm, a sigil that he was of the opulent House of the Heavenly Arch, the treasure-hoarders.

Beside Eglamoth was an Elf of great stature and strength. His hair was dark red and tied in a single braid. His clothes were the color of the garnet and upon his broad chest the token of a stricken hammer, with golden sparks. He was Rog, Chieftain of the Hammer of Wrath, and he wielded a mace.

The one who followed was green-clad, green-eyed Galdor of the Tree, the was dressed in green, and his symbol of a young tree.

Past him was a black-haired Elf with eyes of gray. He dressed in silver and white, and his symbol was a silver pillar and a tower of white. He was Penlod, Lord of two Houses.

Lord Ecthelion sat beside him, wearing azure, embroidered with diamonds. His tunic was silver with the pale blue of a fountain on his chest, and there was the sharp glitter of a white diamond upon his brow.

To his right was Glorfindel, youngest of all those assembled save Maeglin. His hair was longer than the other Chieftains, and it was of pure, thick gold. His eyes were blue, his face fair and keen. Like Maeglin, he was of mixed race, both of the Deep-Elves and the Fair-Elves He wore a grey undertunic, and his green vest was charged with a rayed sun and besprent with celandine flowers in golden thread.

* * *

Ecthelion and Glorfindel had just finished their strange tale, and there was a moment of silence before Galdor spoke, in that faint and gentle voice peculiar to him.

"Are we certain she does not understand our tongue?" he asked.

Glorfindel paused.

"I know not for certain, Lord Galdor, but I believe that she did not understand a word."

Rog held up his hand. His voice was deep and echoed around the chamber in command.

"My Lords, let me speak. From your tale, it is betokened that she has never before seen the _Quend_ i. From what reaches of _Arda Hastaina_ can she come from?"

"I care not for that so much," said Duilin. He was a hasty speaker, and fierce in anger. "But by what means has she found the Hidden City!" He turned to the King, but Turgon held up his hand.

"Peace. No _Quendë_ here assembled cares more on that point than I, but angry words will no aid us." Said the King

Ecthelion nodded to Duilin.

"I do not know, friend. But for the moment, we have the whip-hand." Said Lord Ecthelion

"I am not so assured," said Glorfindel. "I think she is a servant of the Darkness. None but a trained spy could portray nothing in her face. I dislike it, and distrust it."

Maeglin raised his eyes. Blue eyes met black.

"Now that is strange," he said quietly, but the Lords listened to the young Prince. "But it is not the only strange thing. You spoke of her healing, that she was cured…" He let his voice trail off.

Glorfindel nodded.

"Aye, tis so. She was healed with marvelous swiftness after the Lady-Healer took the arrow from her back. And it was not some healing brew. She cured herself."

Maeglin said. "Aye, but is it warrant to mistrust her?"

Turgon looked to his sister-son. "Tell me your counsel then,"

Maeglin stood up. "I cannot speak in full, for I have not seen the woman. But the Lords Glorfindel and Ecthelion have said many things. Namely, this mortal woman killed a company of _**Orcor**_ , and yet there was no weapon found on her body. Insentient, she healed her wound. Were this tale from any other one, I would say it was only a falsehood, but these Lords are beyond suspicion. Knowing then, that they speak the truth, I see something here beyond our dreams. I counsel that we do nothing hastily until we know if she is of darkness or light."

Salgant shook his head.

"I accuse you of no lies, Lord Glorfindel, but how is it in reason that a woman could kill a company of _**Orcor**_." He said

"There was gore on her hands," answered Glorfindel coldly.

Rog laughed, deep in his chest. "So, she killed them with her fists. Nay, my Lord, that will not do. You spoke of sword-wounds."

Penlod spoke. "Lord Rog, I have not seen her, but it could be that she threw aside the weapon somewhere. If she managed to get ahold of an _**Orco**_ scimitar, it might be conceivable."

Duilin brought his fist down on the table in a leap of anger. "Conceivable! Did you leave your wits in the streets, my Lord Penlod? I pray they are not trod on! A _fírima_ cannot slay a score and five _**orcor**_!"

Turgon's voice was as controlled as Duilin's was hot.

"Silence, my Lord. We must then determine what to do with this _fírima_."

"May I then speak, my King?" said Maeglin softly. "We must be evenhanded in this matter. The Council needs more knowledge about the _fírima_. Bring her here, before the council. She may know things vital to the safety of Gondolin, and forewarned is forearmed."

The Lord of Gondolin sat in thought for a time, listening to the soft conversations that began between the Lords.

"Yea, Maeglin. Your rede is wise. Mayhaps the _fírima_ will change her manner upon seeing the High-Council."

* * *

Laura had eagerly eaten the food brought to her and drank the plenteous amounts of water supplied, something Laura appreciated infinitely, but also inwardly. It was necessary to maintain her facade. If she changed it at all, she felt sure Nestaë, the most perceptive of the nurses, would see it. Laura's plans would collapse then, and she would be at the mercy of these Elves or angels.

She was sure that eventually, they would try to get answers about the squad of creatures that had attacked her.

They would certainly be horrified, especially at her claws, and they might have an affiliation with those monsters. Anything was possible, she reminded herself. She did not want to see their reactions.

She was sure that, if they knew what she was capable of, they would probably want to get rid of her. Turgon, Ecthelion, and Glorfindel could defeat her. It would be hard to kill her, because of her healing factor, but it could well happen that she was locked in a dungeon for... forever.

The smartest thing was to make the Elves believe she was a harmless, disoriented woman, who was soft in the head. If she was anything, she was not harmless. She was a creature made to kill and destroy. But she was also a spy, and she just might be able to fool them.

She was sitting on her bed, watching the wall, developing the different scenarios that could play out, when she heard someone talking with the guards, and turned slowly to see Ecthelion, carrying a piece of black linen.

Laura kept her face blank, but the beauty of his clothes startled her a little.

Ecthelion imitated blindfolding her. Laura lifted her black eyebrows fractionally but complied. After tying the knot firmly around her head, he took her arm and led her along the halls, out into the open streets. His guards followed them.

He had carefully placed them in the center of his cadre of guards, to avoid letting the woman being seen. He did not want Gondolin in an uproar before the Lords made a decision.

It was a long walk to the Council Chamber, for the Healing House was by the Lesser Market, and the Palace was a distance.

Once they arrived in the cool hall, he unbandaged her eyes, leaving his guard at the door and the woman near the center of the room.

Ecthelion returned to his chair. His footsteps echoed in the silent hall.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _The cuisine wasn't my favorite, but 'when in Rome, be a Roman'._

 _Honestly, it wasn't too bad. Hunger is the best sauce. It was mostly comprised of vegetables, with a piece of venison, and was fairly small because they worried about me vomiting again. They also supplied plenty of water, seeing I was dehydrated. These Elves...or angels or whatever they are, are medically competent, even though they only use herbs._

 _The question is now, what do I do next? I'm convinced that my "good Samaritans" are Elves, and they are clever too. The head of the staff is a very intelligent person, that's for sure._

 _I feel a stronger, enough to try and escape. But if I meet any of the three Elves that dropped in for a visit, I'll have a hard time. Maybe I could defeat one, but that's debatable._

 _Three options can happen:_

 _One: They let me relax and then come and try to weasel answers out of me._

 _Two: They'll teach me their dialect or their sign-language to get answers._

 _Three: They'll send me to a prison until I change my mind._

 _Regardless of what option they choose, they all have the same objective. They want answers, answers they won't like and will get me in trouble. I'm in enemy territory here, and I need to invent an alibi credible enough to dupe everyone, including Blondie. He'll be the toughest to trick because he's already biased._

 _Ahhhhh, it seems the chess pieces are moving. Ecthelion has come for the visit, and he wants to bandage my eyes._

 _Well, well. We'll see what happens'_

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _My tour lasted for a good half hour, and I can say I'm in a large city. Judging by how quiet it is, either the populace is taking a unanimous siesta or I'm going through back-streets._

 _We've entered a building. It is much cooler, and I can hear a fountain._

 _Now we've stopped now, and I smell people and hear their breathing. I guess Turgon, Ecthelion and Blondie wanted to introduce me to some friends._

 _And, the blindfold's off._

 _Whoa! Well, it seems today is the day of heavenly visions!_

 _Ten seraphim all staring at me. It's an angelic committee meeting of some kind. You want answers, huh? Well, we'll see if you get it, guys, we'll see._

* * *

The ten Elf-lords watched the woman before them in silence. Many there had not befriended men, and here in their inviolable city stood a mortal.

She was tall; wiry and slim, with green eyes and black hair. Her jutting chin and thin eyebrows were masterful, but she was plain-featured, what the kindest of the _Quendi_ would call her ill-favored.

She looked at each Elf-Lord fixedly, and a sense of constraint and veiled hostility settled upon the company.

Finally, the woman approached Maeglin and looked at his ears attentively. The son of Eöl was used too far stranger things, and his countenance was as expressionless as the stranger's face as she studied his ears.

Eventually, she moved to Lord Salgant, whose face showed open surprise.

"I surmise that she has a great fondness for our ears," Lord Egalmoth said dryly.

"She has never before seen one of the _Quendi_ ," replied the King. "Her interest is fathomable."

"Is her interest only of our ears, or of something else?" said Galdor, watching the woman.

Duilin stood up sharply. "She need not stare at mine like a wanton. Her curiosity may be our downfall!"

Glorfindel nodded in ardent agreement.

"The Lord Duilin speaks wisely. Her interest may be our demise!" he said

"Do you truly think, my Lords, that this woman can harm us? Her attitude is that of a simple-minded child," said Penlod soothingly, suffering the woman's examination.

Glorfindel's jaw was tense. "And have you seen a child, my Lord, who has not one sensation in her face or eyes?"

The woman seemed to have finished, all save Duilin, who had stepped away at her approach and would not allow her near.

She had shrugged at this, and returned to her former position, her stance expectant as she stared at the circle.

"Woman," the King said, his words slow and clear. "Where do you hail from?"

She stared at him.

"By what name are you called?"

She did not answer.

"Woman," the king called, speaking as slowly as possible "where are you from?"

"Let us try with gestures," Lord Egalmoth advised. "Woman," he called, raising his hand to get her regard.

She turned and looked at him.

"I am Eglamoth," he said, standing and laying a hand on his chest. "Eglamoth."

"Egalmoth," said the Elf-lord pointing to himself "Egalmoth," he repeated. Then he pointed to her, showing her to say his name; but it was in vain, the woman just stared at him. The Elf-lord tried again, repeating the names of all the Lords assembled, but to no avail.

"We already made that attempt," Lord Ecthelion mentioned. "She does not respond. It is like her mind is far away."

Duilin snorted.

"My lord, you mentioned that the Healer Nestaë believes this is harm to the mind, because of the _**Orcor**_ raid?" Lord Salgant asked.

Ecthelion nodded, and there was a brief silence as the Elf-Lords met the stare of the woman. However, after a few movements, her eyelids drooped, and she drew a deep breath that sounded like a sigh.

Turgon rose.

"My Lord Ecthelion, pray escort her to the Healing House and place her under Nestaë's charge once more. Leave your guard there," he added.

The Lord of the Fountains rose, blindfolded the woman again, and returned her to the Healing House. Soon, he was again at the Council, as they judged the matter.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _These Elves don't know what to do with me. Which is perfect, because they might leave me in the forest or the mountains._

 _Although they might not be angels, they are beautiful and wealthy. Most of them appear experienced warriors, and all are loyal to their King._

 _I have a particular dislike for the goth Elf. What's his name? Oh, Maeglin. I suspect he may be a pain the ass for me at some point. My past hasn't been exactly pretty, but it's given me a surviving instinct. And that instinct says I need be careful around him._

 _I don't appear to be garnering a lot of sympathy, not even from Ecthelion and Turgon._

 _Duilin, Rog, and Blondie are currently on the list of bête-noire Elves. Their antipathy seems kind of unwarranted. Sure, I might try and kill them if I had the chance, but I haven't done anything yet to merit their animosity._

 _As for the others, they don't appear too bad. Salgant is the softest, and probably the easiest to manipulate or scare. That may be useful._

 _Up until this point, my plan has worked. I know their weapons, and their hands indicate they had been using said weapons for a long time._

 _Ha! They even bought the little ruse that I was sleepy. At least I'm not losing my touch._

 _I guess they're now puzzling out what to do with me. If they take me out of the city, all the better for me. If not ... I'll see what I can do. The first thing is to try to get my kevlar. These clothes are comfortable, but it's not as good for fighting as my suit._

* * *

Once Lord Ecthelion had returned, Turgon spoke.

"So then, friends. What shall we decide?"

Penlod spoke. "If Healer Nestaë believes that her witlessness is on account of the shock, mayhaps we should wait for her recovery."

Eglamoth's gaze passed from Turgon to Penlod.

"I would side with Penlod in this matter. I doubt she understood ought that we said, or even what is happening."

Galdor looks at the gilt cornices. "Surely this makes her harmless for the present." was his neutral observation.

Duilin's mouth twitched in anger, and his blue eyes sparked.

Turgon inclined his head.

"Then you, my three Lords, agree that she will tarry in the city until we can speak with her," he asked

"Aye," was heard thrice in the chamber.

"And what say the others?" asked Turgon.

Lord Salgant spoke.

"I say we let her heal, I am in concord."

The King looked to his oldest companion.

"Lord Ecthelion?"

"I do not trust her, my King, for she is a stranger," he answered thoughtfully. "But if we show kindness maybe we win the woman's trust and, in that way, discover our answers."

Turgon then looked to his other hand, where the young and fiery Lord of the Swallow sat. "Lord Duilin? You have said little."

"Only on your command of silence, my Lord!" said the Elf, taut as a bent bow-string with anger. "I believe that the wisest place for her is in a prison. I do not trust her. She is not harmless. And our softheartedness cannot be the bane of our city!"

The king nodded slowly. "Lord Rog?"

"I do not trust her either, my King," answered the Elf-lord, "And Duilin's speech seems sound to me, although we may deal with her kindlier than shutting her away in a prison without certain proof."

"I surmise, that your judgment about the woman has not changed, Lord Glorfindel?" Turgon asked finally.

"Yea, my Lord, but I think imprisonment is not enough. Once we find our answers, we will pray Thorondor to fly her far away."

"And leave her at the mercy of anyone who could harm her?" Lord Egalmoth asked in disbelief. "My Lord, that is ungallant. Outside of the Encircling Mountains, Morgoth's darkness is rife!"

"Aye, and she can return to her master!" spat Glorfindel fiercely.

"Glorfindel," said Lord Ecthelion in a tone of reasonable counterclaim, "This _fírima_ cannot have slain the _**Orcor**_."

"I am of one mind with Ecthelion," said Rog. "I do not trust her, but I doubt that she could have slain them. Perhaps she knew who their killer was, but no more."

Glorfindel drew in a deep breath, but Turgon turned his sister-son, for Maeglin was wise in council, and Turgon held him in high honor.

Maeglin looked up into the eyes of his kin.

"Grant the _fírima_ one chance," he answered firmly, but those who listened thought he may have spoken of more than the _fírima_. Those who heeded oft to the rumor of the city knew that Maeglin was often called the Bastard Prince, and names iller than that. "We all need a chance to prove who we are, and this Council cannot judge without knowing. To do such a thing would be not only unjust but also not worthy of such a wise King."

The king was thoughtful for a moment.

"She will stay," he finally said, "Under guard, but not in a dungeon. We will assign her a room in the Healing House until she is ready to answer. My Lords, do not speak of it outside this room. Not until we know the truth."

"What of the orc company, my King?" Asked Lord Duilin, his voice calmer now.

"You will go with a cadre of your archers to Thorondor. Mayhap he knows something. If not, put him on his guard. This Council is ended!"

* * *

Once the great chamber was empty, Glorfindel approached his King.

"My Lord," he began haltingly.

Turgon looked up with vague impatience.

"Glorfindel, friend, I know of your distrust. And for this reason, I charge you, and the Lords Eglamoth and Ecthelion to mind her."

Lord Glorfindel nodded cheerlessly and was leaving the hall when Turgon's voice arrested him. "And men do... do not be too exacting upon her. My sister-son speaks the truth. Every creature deserves the chance to prove their true self."

The Elf-Lord sighed inwardly and left, leaving the High King of the Noldor alone in the Council-Chamber, in doubt.

* * *

 **Well, seems that Laura's fate, until now, it hasn't been so bad. The interesting thing is that Lord Glorfindel could almost be say that he 'hates' Laura.**

 **Waiting your reviews, guys!**


	6. A passing strange discovery

**Hi people around the world!**

 **We've seen the fate that the Council had decided for a while for Laura. But now… another character which will be very important in Laura's life will appear, not to mention that Lord Glorfindel will discover something that will stun him in such way, that he will start to ponder if his behavior with Laura is the right one or if there's much more than what meets the eye with her.**

 **As always, I want to thank Celridel for her help and invite the readers to leave their reviews.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6: A passing strange discovery**_

Turgon was standing on a low balcony, whose balustrades and pillars were twined with silver and gold blossoms. Around him flitted the hummingbirds, their ruby throats and green wings flashing in the setting sun, the most beloved bird of Itarillë.

" _Atar_ , what troubles you?"

Hearing the voice of celestial music behind him, the High-King turned, his heart suddenly warmed. Standing under a carven marble architrave an Elf-lady stood, smiling warmly.

She was tall and slender, and her beauty was a loveliness that was warm and radiant and spoke of eternal youth. The rich gold of her long hair was so bright it vied with the Sun, and in it were braided strings of white jewels, telling of her noble birth.

Her eyes were very bright, and in the blue depths there spoke strong will, and foresight, and great knowledge for one young of years.

She wore a robe of the finest alabaster silk that ended about her slim ankles, and a girdle of filigree silver fretted with pearls. Her delicate feet were unshod.

Turgon came towards her and approached her tenderly, with all the love that only a widowed father can have for his only child, and the Princess returned the embrace warmly.

" _Atar_ , tell me what troubles you," she asked, in a voice of unrivaled silver. "Your face is grim, though the day is fair, and you did not perceive my presence till I spoke."

Turgon's brows furrowed in slight surprise.

"Have you stood here long, my daughter?" He asked

"Nay, _Atar_. I have been here for only a whit. But you promised that we should ride in Tumladen? Surely you remember." she added archly.

Turgon closed his eyes wearily. Yes, he remembered, but the Orc company and the _firíma_ had made him neglect something so dear to him. If there was ought that cause him to forget his cares and sorrows, it was being with his daughter.

"Forgive me, Itarillë," he said. "I was beholden to address some small troubles, and alas! They have distracted me."

"Surely you do not mean to forswear your promise, _Atar_?" she asked archly, with a merry gleam in her eyes.

"I must. We cannot go riding for some time, I fear."

Her smile was exchanged from a worried frown.

"Why? What troubles bind you so?" Then seeing his sad and weary look, she came to him and laid her golden head on his shoulder. "Tell me, _Atar_ , I pray you. Perhaps I may lighten your burdens."

The young Princess, called Idril among the folk of Gondolin, but Itarillë by her fond father, was insightful well beyond her years. Her foreknowledge was wondrous, inherited perhaps, from her mother Elenwë, known not only for her beauty but her wisdom.

Turgon held her for a moment, then returned to the coolness of the palace. The great chamber they entered was dim after the brilliant light, and in its center was a cool fountain, springing nigh to the dome before falling into a pool. Idril followed him to the side of the pool, where they watched the water fall in iridescent droplets.

"I have in my hands one thread of a tangled skein," he said at last, once he saw they were alone.

Idril watched him. The King struggled inwardly, striving to decide if it would be chary to continue. Many times, the wisdom and prudence of his young daughter had been a great aid for him, and in many things, she was his lodestar. Finally, he drew in a breath. "This morning, the Lords Ecthelion and Glorfindel happened upon a company of _**Orcor**_ in the Tumladen."

Idril drew in her breath. She was no stranger to the _**Orcor**_ and knew they were answerable many of deaths and dangers that had befallen the _Quendi_. Even as a young child, she had been present for the _Dagor-nuin-Giliath_ , where the company of Fingolfin had been waylaid by _**Orcor**_.

"And did they slay them?" she asked in a low voice.

"Nay, Itarillë. They were already slain when the Lords happened upon them. We do not know who committed this deed, but it must have been a seasoned and strong warrior, but who is bloodthirsty and cruel as well."

"And who is that warrior?" asked Idril, seating herself on the edge of the pool.

"Therein lies the difficulty. We do not know, but the High Council believes that it must be one of the warriors of the Darkness."

"He did not leave any trace? There is no clue?" she asked, her chin on her hands in contemplation.

"No." The hesitance in her father's voice caused Idril to look up. "They also found a _firíma_."

Idril's eyes were wide.

"A daughter of Men?" she demanded. "But how?"

"We know not."

"This is strange news. Where is she at the present time?"

"In the Healing House. There was an arrowhead in her back, poisoned, as only the _**Orcor**_ do with their weapons. Nestaë removed it, but once the arrowhead was gone, the _firíma_ healed herself within minutes."

"I know little of Men, but their bodies are weaker than ours. How then did this come to pass?" said Idril, standing up.

"You speak truth, daughter, but I also tell you the truth as well. Not even Nestaë has an answer for this wonder. "

"Do you know aught else, _Atar_? Her name or her homeland?"

"Therein lies the next difficult. The woman is awake, but her mind seems troubled. She shows nothing; no fear, no confusion, no surprise. All that I have seen was some slight interest on account of our ears."

"Our ears?"

"Aye. She examined our ears. Seemingly she had never seen such things."

"So, she has not seen the _Quendi_ before," concluded Idril, frowning thoughtfully.

"Perchance. Nestaë has told me that it is a consequence to she suffered whilst her body healed itself. Mayhaps the _firíma_ does not even understand what is happening around her. " The King paused. "Until now, nobody has had any success in speaking with her."

There was a long silence between father and daughter. King Turgon returned to the balcony and watched the Sun set. Arien's vessel slowly sank behind the peaks of the _Echoriath_ and then hung for a moment there on the western mountain-line. When at last it spoke its farewell and vanished, the air grew quiet.

Far down in the city, he heard the harping of the sunset songs. Gold still wavered in the sky, but outside the limit of this sun-kissed pale, the blue of the sky gradually grew darker, and the first stars shimmered.

Suddenly the Princess' voice startled him.

" _Atar_ , you know that a wolf that lies idle will win little meat, and we must have answers. Let me go and speak with her. Mayhaps with me she will feel otherwise."

Turgon shook his head sternly.

"Nay, Itarillë, in no way can I allow you to do that. We do not know aught about her, nor her purpose. She may have arrived by chance, or by the guidings of the great Enemy, and I will not put you in danger."

"The Enemy?" repeated Idril. "Do you think, _Atar_ , that she is a spy? "

"No, never." Turgon sighed impatiently, recalling the supposal of Glorfindel. "Nay, I do not think so, daughter. None do save the Lord Glorfindel. He is certain that the _firíma_ is responsible for the death of the _**Orcor**_."

"Such a thing is doubtful. Surely, an Elven warrior could do such a thing, but I question if a man could."

"Indeed, you and I are of one mind, but Lord Glorfindel is unyielding on his claim that she is answerable for the _**Orcor**_. Though, if she is, why then would she be a Servant of the Darkness? She did us a great favor if indeed things went as Glorfindel claims."

Idril smiled.

"Indeed, _Atar_. So, will you not let me attempt it?"

"No!" Turgon said, with obdurate resolution. "I cannot in my right mind allow you to go. If you are hurt, daughter, what then shall I do?"

" _Atar_ ," said Idril firmly, and by the glint in her blue eyes, it was clear that she would win her point. " _Atar_ , I have always helped you, and you have often said that my foreknowledge aided you in difficult times."

"But it this is a different matter, Itarillë." the King answered gravely. "The undertakings with which you have assisted me before never involved danger to yourself."

"Then why did you let her remain if you think we are in danger?" asked the Princess earnestly.

"We must find answers for this, Itarillë, and the only way to do this is to wait for her to heal."

"And we must gain her trust," said Idril. "That is what I will do. _Atar_ , perhaps her mind is not weakened, but we frighten her, so she hides under the cloak of illness."

Turgon looked keenly at his daughter and then turned away to the night sky.

"Let me win her trust." pleaded Idril. "You come to her armed, but if she sees a woman, unarmed, maybe I could obtain her confidence."

She watched her father and then continued. "Glorfindel has no love for this woman, is that not so?"

Turgon nodded.

"Well, Glorfindel shall be present when I am with her and may forestall any danger," said Idril resolutely.

The King turned and looked at his daughter with tender sorrow.

"You are so like your mother, as fair as you are fearless, willing to face the greatest challenges and the unknown."

Idril smiled softly. She remembered little of her mother, but _Atar_ often said that she had the qualities of her mother, and the Princess was expected to run abreast with the memory of Lady Elenwë, as well as being an unconditional aid for her father.

"Very well, my heart-whole, head-strong daughter," said Turgon fondly. "Tomorrow I will speak to Lord Glorfindel." he paused "May the Válar illuminate you, Itarillë, and gain you what none of us has won," he added, kissing her brow.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _'Since yesterday, shortly after Ecthelion returned me to the clinic, I was moved into a different room in the same building. Even though I was blindfolded, I couldn't feel the wind. Apparently, the King and his cabinet decided and should stay in the city, probably so I can 'recover.'_

 _Actually, I would prefer to be out the city. I'm sure Blondie would be happy with that as well. No doubt he even suggested it._

 _But no. Now, I am a prisoner. That is currently the correct word to qualify my situation: I am a prisoner. I cannot leave this room. In the corridor, there are at least ten guards who rotate. From what I have seen through a hand-mirror I pushed under the door, they are from three different regiments. One is Eglamoth's; one is Ecthelion's and, finally, Blondie. Yay! Blondie just had to be involved._

 _I can't complain… that much, about my prison. I have a comfortable bed, a chair, a dresser and a bedside table, as well as a large window that faces the gardens. I'm on the third floor, but if they think the height will stop me, they're very much mistaken. Unfortunately, the window isn't wide enough, and no doubt there are other guards in case I get it in my head to attempt escape._

 _The food isn't bad, considering I am a prisoner. In fact, I don't need anything except one small item: my freedom._

 _These elves are very considerate jailers and, one might say, kind; except Blondie, of course._

 _Blondie is always on the defensive and if looks could clear, my healing factor would be very busy. Ecthelion and Eglamoth are nicer and try from time to time to get some reaction from me._

 _The only reaction I want to give is to sock Blondie in the face and leave him with a black eye and a couple teeth less. His way of treating me, though it's not comparable to the Facility, isn't exactly nice._

 _Ah-ha! It seems I have a visitor. It's not time for dinner yet, and there aren't many people who want to spend one-on-one time with me. Oh! Blondie's my visitor. I recognize his smell, but he isn't coming alone. Let's see who his friend is.'_

* * *

When Lord Glorfindel had learned of his mission to attend the beautiful Celebrindal, the flower, and pearl of Gondolin, whenever she wished to visit the woman, he was enraged. How could Turgon be so blind as to put his only daughter in danger? But his reasoning did not sway either the Princess or the King, and so, against his will, he now escorted Idril to the prisoner's room.

* * *

Laura watched Glorfindel enter, dressed in a grey vest and green tunic broidered with celandine, in some hope her empty stare might unnerve him. Behind the vacant look, her mind seethed with fury. The Elf considered her a danger, a menace and she hated him for it. It was not a lie. She was very dangerous, but he rubbed in her face with a constant reminded of the long, sad life she had led.

However, her facade almost collapsed when she saw the beautiful woman who accompanied him. She had never seen a creature so absolutely lovely. Laura had met women of great physical attraction throughout her missions and among the X-Men, and she was fully aware that she was not a part of those elite. Physically, she was normal, even homely, but her past deeds and mutation made her ugly in the eyes of people. She was completely conscious of this and hurt her deeply.

 _Why couldn't I be even a little bit pretty_? she demanded inwardly. _Why do people judge me so harshly for what I've done?_ She gritted her teeth. She knew the answer for that, and that it was only fair.

Reminders of her unattractiveness and of the social condemnation she faced hurt her more than anything else. But Laura kept them fiercely barricaded in her mind, to prevent anyone from finding a weakness in a woman that seemed unbreakable.

Nonetheless, when Laura saw the woman with such angelic beauty, she felt that her homely physiognomy was being thrown back in her teeth.

Her fists clenched with rage for a split second, before she quickly relaxed. Laura was more than intelligent enough to realize that this heavenly creature was not to blame for anything, not the way society judged her, or the way she judged herself.

* * *

Seeing the woman sitting on the edge of the bed, Idril approached the chair and sat down. Glorfindel behind the chair. His right hand gripped _Culumaica's_ hilt and his eyes were locked on the _firíma_.

"Good morn to you, my friend." greeted the Princess sweetly, a slight smile drawn on her lips. "I am Idril."

Laura watched her expressionlessly.

The Princess only smiled and laid a hand on her breast. "Idril. I am Idril." She gestured invitingly to Laura, but the woman made no response.

Undaunted, Idril continued to smile with guileless warmth, that seemed to dim even the morning sunlight that came through the window.

"Lady, we strove to reach her with such gestures, but-" began Glorfindel.

Idril interrupted him. "I am well aware of that, my Lord, but it injures none if we try again."

Still with an indifferent stare she had carefully cultivated to hide her concentration, Laura watched their lips move, paying attention to the phonemes they uttered, while her disciplined mind began to analyze and compare them with her knowledge of linguistics.

At last, Idril drew a book from her woven girdle and leaned forward to show it to Laura. The cover was of soft leather, the title made of gilt lettering, and the delicate leaves were covered with many illustrations.

Idril opened it halfway and held it out to Laura.

"Take this," she said. "I think you will enjoy it, and this way," she added with an adorable smile. "You will not be wearied to death."

Laura stared at the book, and then stood and approached the Celebrindal, inspecting her delicate ears with great attention. Glorfindel had drawn his sword, but the voice of the princess arrested him.

"Calm yourself, my Lord Glorfindel," Idril said, without moving. "Pray, sheath your sword. There is no danger, she is only curious."

"A curiosity that may be our downfall, my Lady," Lord Glorfindel replied, staring at Laura coldly.

Idril did not look around, but though her tone was calm, there was an intrinsic command to the intonation. "My Lord, I ask you again, sheath your sword."

Lord Glorfindel obeyed with disgruntled hesitation.

Laura tilted her head, leaned over, and examined the Princess's lily feet with childish intensity.

Idril smiled. The curiosity was childish it could not but win a smile from the sweet Princess. But though she smiled at the stranger, she did not allow herself to be beguiled, although she humored the woman. It was her intention to show kindness, so she might gain the woman's confidence.

Finally, when the woman seemed satisfied with her inspection, she sat up and for a moment their eyes interlocked. Emerald met sapphire.

The mortal's face showed nothing, but Idril read in the green eyes an emotion she could not name. There was a sudden spark of feeling and then it was gone, but it was enough for Idril. This woman felt as keenly as she did, but she was concealing it.

With an impulse by presentiment, Idril put the book she had previously offered in the _firíma's_ hand so that the mortal could not help but take it. The woman stiffened visibly and frowned, but the Princess only smiled pleasantly and rose to her feet.

"Well met," she said in a friendly voice. "I hope you will enjoy the book." And bowing her head in farewell, she left the room. Glorfindel followed after a few minutes, with one last unfriendly glance before he locked the door.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _In all my life I have never seen anyone as beautiful as the Elf that just entered. It's not that I know many Elves, but this one is the most beautiful of them all._

 _I assume she is the Princess. Her features resemble Turgon with the exception of hair and eyes. Her Queen mother is undoubtedly blonde and blue-eyed._

 _And, of course, the Elvish names are very unique. Idril. What a strange name! Although considering the names of Ecthelion, Blondie, and company, it's much more beautiful._

 _And speaking of Blondie. That guy will never forgive me for whatever I've done to offend him so much. Who knows why he dislikes me? He was about to attack me. He couldn't have done much damage to me with his little sword, however, nothing that my healing factor or claws wouldn't have solved. God, I'd love to see his expression when those come into play. That'd be the time to mark his pretty face for life._

 _It was nice of Idril to bring me the book. This way, I will be rescued from royal boredom, and I can learn some things about this place._

 _She was kinder than any of the other Elves. Apparently beautiful women have the most luck, they're happier, they're kinder ... at least the majority of the ones I've met are. If the equation to being happy only works if one the factors are being beautiful, I'll never be. I'm not beautiful on the inside or the outside. And no matter how hard I try, I can never get it. My past will always persecute me. People will always judge me. Sometimes I think that having left the Facility was a bad idea ... but there is something that always propels me forward. Xavier says that this is called 'hope'. Ha! Hope? I have hope to escape from here, I hope to know where I am and how it was that I arrived here, but ... hope that I will become like this Idril? No, never._

 _It'd be easier for me to die than to become as beautiful as she is, inside and out._

 _I'd better find a way to entertain myself or I'm just going to get depressed. When I get pessimistic, I have a bad habit of cutting myself, something these Elves wouldn't like to see. No doubt I'd get in trouble._

* * *

Idril paced the wide streets thoughtfully, her hair and dress fluttering around in the slight spring breeze. As they approached the Road of Running Waters, where, on either side of the path, fountains uplifted their waters in a rain of singing crystal, Idril spoke,

* * *

"Lord Glorfindel, it seems to me you are overly distrustful of the woman."

"Princess, it seems to me you have not seen the darkness in her," answered Glorfindel resentfully.

Idril had paused to lean forward, her face glistening with the spray of the fountains, but on hearing his reply, she turned around.

"Nay, I think not." She answered

Glorfindel strove manfully to get the Princess to answer, but she would not speak on the matter until she had found Turgon. They found him in the Tower of the King.

* * *

"I have only just returned from _Gar Ainion,"_ he murmured on hearing them approach. "Have you found anything?"

Idril shook her head. "Nay, little and less. But," she added after a pause. "Even a little may be of aid. I saw her eyes. I do not know what it is that I witnessed, but I believe it was sadness."

"Sorrow?" asked Turgon.

"I know not." answered the Princess thoughtfully. "I do know this. Something happened to her, something evil and because of this, she will not trust us. It will take us long to gain her confidence."

* * *

Glorfindel entered the House of Healing, his good nature broken. The Princess' account was mad, and her every word had only fueled the blaze of anger burning inside his heart. This woman was putting in danger everything that he loved, the city he had helped to be built, the people had he helped protect.

That woman had killed the _**Orcor**_ , it had only been a double ruse to strengthen her protection and her lies.

Trembling with inner anger, he stopped before the door, ready to confront her, when a voice halted him with his hand on the latch.

He listened to the singing carefully. It was no _Quendë_ who sang. The voice was full-toned, but not the ethereal descant of an Elf. That tongue was unknown to him. It was the stranger's voice. What was she singing? A spell?

He unsheathed _Culumaica_ and with his other hand, unlocked the door silently.

Glorfindel looked inside. The woman was standing by the mullioned window, one foot upon the sill. She was singing softly to herself, slapping her hand on her upraised knee to keep rhythm to the melody. The mortal smiled as she sang, with all the simple joy of a little child, but there was an intense loneliness in her face that captured his attention.

The song was not sad, at least not the music, for he understood nothing that the woman sang.

As he sensed the song was drawing to a close, he closed the door silently and left, wandering through Gondolin's streets, buried in his thoughts.

Perhaps, the Princess Idril was right. The mortal did feel… Maybe, maybe she was not the killer of the _**Orcor**_. Perchance she knew the true killer, or perchance she was wholly innocent, and he had been accusing her falsely…

Glorfindel shook his head and then started. He had unconscious strayed into the range of a fountain, and the sudden shower drenched his garments.

Stepping away, he hurried towards his home. He must think deeply about what he had seen. And he had to change his tunic.

* * *

 **So… strange discovery the once that Glorfindel made! What does it mean? What was that song? And seems that Laura isn't the woman who is impossible to be hurt in any possible way.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	7. And why shouldn't I be able to understan

**Hi guys!**

 **And here's the next chapter…**

 **As always, I must add that your reviews are very well welcome.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7: 'And why shouldn't I be able to understand you… Blondie?'**_

 **Turgon's POV**

' _How sweet is the laughter of the children! I still can hear the merriment of my daughter when her mother and I played with her._

 _With a mother's wisdom, Elenwë always knew what our little child needed. She knew how to heal her hurts when Itarillë fell, she knew how to sing the most beautiful melodies to lull her to sleep, she knew how to make her laugh, she even knew how to scold her from time. Itarillë was not overly mischievous, but like all children, she played pranks._

 _Although my Itarillë grew to womanhood without a mother, she inherited all the features of my beloved wife. She is beautiful, she is sweet, she is wise, she is prudent ... she has achieved what none of us had achieved. Little by little, the_ firíma _accepts her company._

 _Ai Elenwë! If you only you could now see our Itarillë! I pledge my heart you would be proud of her. I have not been the father I should have been, but I have done my best. Even with all my failures, my treasure has grown as wise and beautiful as you, beloved by all the City._

 _How I miss you, Elenwë! Why were the Válar so cruel to snatch you from my side when I needed you the most? Even now, after all these long years have passed, every time I see the snow I remember the night when I lost half my heart._

 _I would have withered, but I had a little bud to care for, and you should know, Elenwë, that this little flower has blossomed into a beautiful maid. Idril Celebrindal: the flower and treasure of Gondolin, the one all love and admire._

 _At this time, she is playing with the daughter of one of her ladies-in-waiting. I seem to see you again when you played with our daughter in Tirión._

 _Itarillë has even inherited some of your gestures. When she is thoughtful, she rests her head into her little hands and her brow furrows, as you used to do. When she is trying to learn something, she wraps a strand of hair around her fingers until she comprehends at last. When she laughs, her eyes open wide before the song of her happiness makes my ears merry._

 _But now, I have another burden upon me: the firíma. How I wish you were here by my side, Elenwë, to guide me! I would give all Gondolin to listen to your voice, to feel your Fëa intertwined with mine once more, to see your eyes._

 _Because of long labor on Itarillë's account, the firíma no longer examines only her ears and feet. She spends hours every day speaking to the woman, although the woman answers not in word or countenance. However, our little flower is certain that we shall gain the trust of the firíma. She says that something terrible must have happened to make the woman so cold._

 _One day, Elenwë, when Itarillë finds the one with whom her destiny is bound, she will be a mother as never seen before. If only you could see how she causes Nessawën to laugh._

 _One thing I swear to you, adored Elenwë, that our little flower, our Itarillë will marry one worthy of her in every way. I pray to the Válar every day, and to the Lord of the Seas most of all, the one who guided me to this place, that they will never abandon our daughter '_

* * *

Nessawën was one of the many Elven-children who played with the Princess Idril in her free time.

She was the only daughter of Melimë, one of the Princess's ladies-in-waiting, and her favorite pastime was to listen to the stories of the Celebrindal and hear her sing and play upon the high harp.

Above them, and unbeknown to her, the High-King often watched them, when Idril sang the songs he knew so well. When he did, Turgon returned to those golden days of bliss in Tirión, before bloodshed, before the seas screamed with the murder of the Swan-people, before darkness had overtaken them.

By their own folly, they had followed Fëanor, the Kinslayer, and they had crossed the Pass of Helcaraxë, where so many had lost their lives. After his wife's demise, Turgon had longed for death, but his own heart did not allow to fade away, for there was one small being he must protest at all costs.

In the depths of the garden, a beech tree spread long, low branches, thick with leaves that cast cool shadows on the green lawns below. Hidden in these shadows from the warmth of the midday were two Elves, one small, wreathed in flowers, and the other elegant, seated upon a low bough in front of her high harp.

It was the child who cried excitedly. "Oh, another! Another, another, another!"

Idril smiled, the sun and shadow dancing over her face. "But _nirëa_ *," she said. "Your master will be looking for you."

Nessawën shrugged her shoulders blithely. "I do not want to learn history, I want you to sing. Please! Sing me another one, pleeaaase?"

Idril laughed aloud. The childish manner of asking charmed her, but she knew that the girl must also learn her history. "Very well, my little wheedler," she said, leaning forward playfully. "But only one."

Nessawën nodded, but already she was beginning to think of ways, so she might never go to her lessons. Yet, if Nessawën believed that her scheme would go unnoticed, nothing was further from the truth.

Before the Elfling could move, Idril seized the child and began to tickle her. The joyful laughter of the two resounded through the gardens.

"Are you going to your lessons now?" The Princess demanded after a minute.

Nessawën, breathless from laughing, stared at her, a look that Idril instantly understood, and yet she did not move when the child wriggled out of her lap and ran as far as her short legs would allow.

The Princess stayed still for a moment in her place, giving Nessawën the lead, then sprang to her feet and gave chase.

Nessawën was soon captured and tickled into submission.

"Are you going to your history lesson?" repeated Idril, the child clasped firmly in her arms.

At the first, the child did not answer, but final gasped between laughter. "Yes! Yes!"

On hearing this, the Princess let the Elfling to the ground and took her hand to lead her to the palace.

The marble inside was cool after the sun-warmed grass on their feet, and Nessawën's steps pattered on the floor. Idril walked in lightsome silence.

They passed under a high arcade of alabaster and entered the library of Gondolin. The great room was roofed with a glass dome, and it was airy and full of light, although filled with deep knowledge and lore.

"I bring you a truant, Lord Nolandil!" called Idril. An Elf of high stature, grey-eyed and dark-haired, with a countenance of a sage, turned from his work.

When he saw the unkempt Elf-child, he regarded her gravely, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he saw her flushed face.

"I see that is so, Princess, and I thank you for bringing her. If it were not for you, this little one would be hiding in every corner of the palace so as not to attend her lessons."

"But such a thing will not happen, is that not so, Nessawën?" remarked Idril pointedly, looking down at the child, who had her curly hair all astray.

Nessawën giggled, nodding her head.

"Come, little one, we have much to study today," said Nolandil, taking Nessawën by the hand.

"I will take my leave now," said Idril. "Goodbye, Nessawën. Learn much, for I will speak to your master to be certain you are studying your lessons."

The Elf-child opened her grey eyes wide and gasped. She must study all that her master taught her carefully now, for fear of disappointing her royal playmate.

* * *

On either side of the hall, lancet windows stretched from floor to roof, letting the golden light flood in. Idril basked in it as went along, humming a tune softly to herself. It was a love ballad, telling of loss and gain, pain and final, lasting joy.

"It looks that the daughter of Melimë is as unruly as a certain child that I once knew," said a male voice. Idril stopped her song and turned, before rejoining merrily.

"Ai! No, _Atar_! I was never as wayward as Nessawën!"

Turgon smiled knowingly. "Sometimes you were. Yet your mother always knew what to do ... just like you do with Nessawën."

The Princess smiled, but then said with tender concern as she saw his face. " _Atar_ , there are tears on your cheeks. What troubles you?"

Turgon looked away from the sunlight that had betrayed him. "It is a small thing, Itarillë ... watching you brought back memories of your mother. You are like her in so many ways."

Idril stepped forward and hugged her father tightly, as if by some way the embrace could take away the grief. Turgon returned the caress for a few moments. At length, he kissed her golden head and said,

"I have summoned Ecthelion, Egalmoth, and Glorfindel to a banquet, so we may speak about of the _firíma_. I must needs know their opinions, as well as yours, my daughter, so we can decide if we shall continue or consider another ploy."

" _Atar_ ... do you think that what I have done is not ... enough?" asked Idril slowly.

"No, dear one, that is not so. Only, I must know what the judgments of all involved in this matter. Every Lord he claims to be wise must know what those in his council think."

Idril nodded. She understood.

"When will this repast be?"

"This very night, within the belvedere in lily gardens."

"Very well, _Atar_ , there I will be," she answered. "Now, I shall go to walk in the city, if you deem it wise."

Turgon smiled. "You know, Itarillë, that there is nothing can I deny you as long as you are kept safe."

Idril smiled in farewell and left the hallway, her lily-feet hardly seeming to touch the chalcedony of the floor.

* * *

In the foremost courtyard, below the Tower of the King, stood two figures, one the lithesome body of daylight, the other clad in night-colors.

Set high on a pillared arcade, the Tower was built of white marble, the courts inlaid with ivory fountains that spilled clear, foaming water. Amidst the fountains stood _Glingal_ and _Belthil_ , trees carved of gold and silver by the King's own hand, in memory of the Two Trees of Valinor.

But the brilliance of topaz dimmed before the luster of Idril's hair and the radiance of diamonds were darkened with the brightness of her eyes. It was said that she was the greatest treasure that Gondolin possessed. Her beauty and character, her spirit and wisdom, had won the love of all.

And her cousin, Maeglin of the House of the Mole, loved her most. Finally, Idril turned to meet his gaze. Maeglin was tall, pale as one who spends not much time in the light of _Vàsa_. His hair and eyes were black, his garments unblazoned sable. He looked weary though, and a chisel was still in his hands, for Maeglin was a tireless craftsman, the chief builder of the city.

"Would you allow me to keep you company, Idril?" he asked, coming softly nearer to her.

She did not turn her gaze from _Glingal_.

"I prefer to walk alone, Maeglin." She answered

"Why alone, _ettaresse_ *, may I know? It is a fair day, although never as fair as you. I could escort you to the Palace, and we might speak together."

Idril breathed impatiently.

"Maeglin, I prefer to walk alone and enjoy the songs of birds and flowers and fountains. And I reckon that you have matters of import," she added meaningfully.

"None that could not wait," said Maeglin. "I have finished my last work of the forge; may I not enjoy rest with you?"

"I delight to hear your work is completed, but I would prefer to be alone. For the rest, there are always matters to address within the House of the Mole. Surely, you would not wish King Turgon to believe you are neglecting your duties."

The Elf-Lord could not deny such an argument, so he bowed.

"You speak the truth, Idril. Forgive my intrusion. No Lord could resist the pleasure of escorting the Pearl of Gondolin, but they must comply with her wishes."

"Your apology is accepted, Maeglin. Go, and care for your duties. As long as the city is safe in your hands, I shall be safe as well."

"Without a doubt, Idril. I take my leave then." He left silently, his countenance unchanged, but in his heart, a storm of passions raged.

Why did Idril always rejected his company? What had he done to make her stand aside? Finally, he took a deep breath, and into his deep eyes came a look of determination. One of these days, he would win the love of his fair cousin, and marry her.

* * *

Many-hued lanterns of glass shimmered in the pavilion of the King. The summerhouse was built upon a green lawn, surrounded by the shadows of birch groves and the perfume of summer lilies.

Through the coppice, came Princess Idril, her feet bare on the dewy grass. She was dressed in a robe of green silk embroidered with silver, the hanging sleeves knotted with opals, her hair wreathed with _uilos_. Around her neck, she had clasped a chain of pearls threaded with gold, the necklace of her mother.

Stars twinkled in the depths of the blue skies, as she made her way through the glades. Within the pavilion, the Lords and the King were already assembled, but Ecthelion called out "Forbear for the Lady Idril!" at her approach. They rose from their places, bowing their heads in respectful greeting.

Idril came up the steps and greeted them in the same fashion. "My Lords."

Lord Egalmoth, nearest the Princess, seated her and the banquet began. The table was laden with autumn fruits and white bread, red wine and pheasant, sweetmeats and other savories.

* * *

As they ate, those assembled spoke of unimportant matters: the birth of children, concepts the Elven Lords had created to train their guards, and other topics. When Idril heard Maeglin mentioned, her jaw tensed for a moment, an expression that passed unnoticed by all save her father.

They spoke also of building other edifices, gardens to further beautify the City, until they came to the point of increasing the defense of Gondolin and the vigilance of its guards, which involved the question the _**Orcor**_ company and the _firíma_.

Glorfindel remained silent upon that matter. He had not spoken of what he had seen, although the mortal's expression had left him bewildered and disturbed.

Finally, the King took the conversation into his own hands.

"My Lords," he said. "As I told you before, I have called you to hear to speak of the _firíma_. I wish to know what judgment each of you has formed during these weeks."

There was a short silence, and then Egalmoth spoke.

"My Lord, I have not interacted much with her, but from what I have seen, we have made no progress in reaching our purpose."

"Certainly, I am of one mind with Lord Egalmoth. The _firíma_ has not changed as far as I can see," said Ecthelion. "At times, I wonder if she even observes the books and tapestries the Princess brings her. She appears to lose attention in them and leave them on the floor in a corner."

Idril plucked a red grape from its stem and ate it thoughtfully, watching her father.

"What say you, Lord Glorfindel?" King Turgon asked. "You have spent the most time with her."

Lord Glorfindel remained silent for a moment. In his memory came the image of her looking out the window as she sang, as she sang with abandon, her loneliness adding eloquence to the words.

"To be honest, my lord, I could not give you any definite answer," he said at last. It was preferable to continue pondering on what he had seen. "The _firíma_ does not respond. No matter how long your daughter stays, or how much she speaks with her... we speak with her," he corrected himself with bad grace, remembering the times Idril had cajoled him to speak. "She only stares at us."

There was a silence.

"Idril?" The King turned to his daughter.

Idril laid down her cluster of grapes and looked around the table before answering. Her blue eyes, filled with discernment and foresight, expressed the fullest perception of the matter, and the minds of each of those gathered.

"It is true that she had changed little, but perchance it is because she believes herself a prisoner."

"She is a prisoner, Princess," said Lord Ecthelion gently. "We cannot allow her to roam through the City at her free will."

Idril held up her hand in a gesture of silence.

"I do not argue with the decision made by the Council, and I do not know the intentions of her heart, but she is locked away."

"With all due respect, Princess Idril," said Glorfindel impatiently. "She is assigned to the most comfortable room in the House of Healing."

"Aye, a gilded cage, but a cage at last."

Lord Glorfindel regarded Idril in astonishment.

"Pardon me, but do you truly believe that it would be wise to allow her to walk through Gondolin?" He asked astonished

"No, indeed. We know not how the people would react."

"So, what is your thought, daughter Idril?" Asked the King seriously.

"I am aware the Healing Houses have herb gardens. Allow to go out into one of these, under guard, of course, but enough to restrict a sense of freedom."

"My King, my Lady, my Lords," interrupted Glorfindel hastily. "We cannot gain the confidence of the woman at the risk of the safety of Gondolin."

"My Lord, you have been me with me every time I visit. Have you noticed how she watches the window when she hears the song or sudden flight of a bird? She seeks, like every creature, to have some freedom!" said Idril hotly. "It would be unable and unworthy to deny a little to her."

"Not some, but all." dared the Chieftain of the Golden Flower. "I believe she would flee the instant she was given a chance."

Ecthelion, who had sat pensively during this exchange, spoke.

"It is probable that escape is on her mind, but our guards could undoubtedly stop her. They will be posted all around the garden."

"She could only put up a feeble resistance to our trained guards," suggested Egalmoth.

Idril and Glorfindel remained silent, although both disagreed with the Steward of Gondolin.

" _Atar_ ," pleaded the Celebrindal at last. "We must give her a chance, if only one."

Turgon nodded his head in answer to his daughter.

"She will be given permission to the central garden of the House. There cannot be anyone save you and a cadre of guards. She must be kept away from others until we have answers."

Glorfindel did not answer, and Turgon noticed this.

"Glorfindel, my friend, you have not been guarding the Gates for some time." He said

"That is so, my King. I have had the honor of accompanying the Princess when she goes to visit the prisoner."

"Now, I have another duty for you. You and your house will resume guard duty of the Seven Gates, in place of Lord Ecthelion."

Glorfindel met the King's eyes and realized that Turgon was relieving him of an uncomfortable task.

"As you command, my King," he replied gratefully.

"Lord Ecthelion, you will take the place of Lord Glorfindel and accompany my daughter," said Turgon.

The Lord of Fountains bent his dark head in obedience.

Idril spoke again: "My lords, I would like to make another request."

The Elven Lords were attentive to what the young Princess said. Despite her tender age, who wisdom was known to all.

"Until now, I have been the only one who tried to approach her friendship. I now suggest that you all make the same effort." She saw the doubt on their faces and continued. "She will see you often, my Lords. You shall be the ones to question her one day, therefore, it would be wise to gain some of her trust."

There was silence around the table. When the _firíma_ was able to speak, the Council would be there to question her, and she would likely feel frightened and overwhelmed. The woman would need someone to trust, for the children of Men were frailer in body, mind and spirit than the _Quendi_.

"My Lords," Idril continued winningly, at their indecision. "Until now I have not been able to speak to her, but I have noticed in her eyes a sadness. If she sees she has encouragement and sympathy, there will be a more desirable outcome."

The King asked, " And how would we achieve such a thing?"

"Speak to her, even if she does not answer. If you desire, I shall give you some of the items I bring her. It is not necessary to speak long abstruse mattes, but simple things. Tell her about the flowers and the birds in the gardens, and such subject."

"Is that to say that you would not go to visit her any longer, my lady? "Lord Egalmoth asked with some trepidation

"No. I will continue to go."

There was a lengthy silence. None of the Elf-lords relished the idea of the princess. All three knew that the Flower of Gondolin was wise for her age, but even she could make mistakes. Turgon himself did not seem satisfied; but to his memory came the recollection of his wife. Most like she would have advised the same.

"Let us strive to follow the advice of my daughter. At the least, we cannot say that we did not try by all safe means to gain the confidence of the _firíma_."

Lord Ecthelion and Lord Egalmoth sighed reluctantly but nodded. They would do all their King commanded.

Glorfindel watched the glass lamps sway and thanked the Válar the King had changed his duty. But his gratitude was too hasty, for Turgon added. "You as well, Lord Glorfindel. Once you complete your times at the Gates, you will also endeavor to gain the trust of the _firíma_."

* * *

The banquet was ended soon after. The only affair left of interest was that Lord Duilin had gone to see Thorondor the Great and his eagles in the _Crissaegrim_. The Eagle-King had answered that they had not seen either _**Orcor**_ nor a woman, but they assured the Elves they would redouble their vigilance.

Lord Duilin and the cohort that had accompanied him had searched the _Crissaegrim_ Range but had found no clue.

With that discouraging note, Lord Ecthelion dismissed himself, followed soon by the other Elf-Lords. Turgon and Idril were left alone in the pavilion.

The night was warm for autumn, and the hardier lilies still bloomed. But there was a cool wind coming from the mountains that promised a frost-blushed evening.

Turgon had left the pavilion and stepped out onto the lawn, Idril at his side. He looked at her for a moment, and then at the night sky, studded with stars.

"Something troubles you again, _Atar_." reproached the Princess.

"We must speak of your kinsman, Maeglin. You made a gesture of displeasure when he was mentioned. Has he done something to offend you, Itarillë?"

The birch leaves rustled chillily at the outskirts of the lawn. Idril watched them by the light of the gibbous moon. How could she tell her father that she sensed there was a darkness in him, and a danger? King Turgon loved and held in high esteem the son of his dead sister. His confidence in the young Elf Lord was so great that he often listened to his advice over the advice of older counselors.

Idril sighed impatiently. "No, _Atar_ , he has not insulted me. But at times…. I-I feel preyed upon, for he follows me around the city."

Turgon knew the sigh meant that she was angry. "Itarillë ... Maeglin is your _ettaréro_ *. He wishes to protect you, and he also wishes to have your friendship and light in his life. He has suffered much, my daughter. Perhaps you should be kinder to him."

" _Atar_ , I do not savor his presence," Idril said flatly.

"Why?" he exclaimed in surprise. "Maeglin would never hurt you, nor any in this city."

"Yes, but ..." protested Idril.

"Idril," said Turgon sternly. "Be patient and understanding towards him. The other Lords respect him, and you as his kinswoman should do so as well."

The Princess sighed again and turned away. He had called her Idril, showing there was nothing more to say.

"The Válar bless your night, Itarillë," the king said tenderly, and departed, leaving Idril pensive and in an ill humor.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _Months have passed, and I am still a prisoner._

 _I wonder if anyone, among the X-Men or the Facility, is looking for me. I highly doubt it, because surely, they would have found me already. Xavier should definitely have been able to have discovered me with 'Cerebro'. Unless, of course, these Elves are also telepathic or have a helmet similar to that used by 'friend' Magneto._

 _Whether they are looking for me or not, the point is that I'm still a prisoner. I am well treated, have decent room and board, and was allowed to go into the gardens a few months ago. Being locked in this room was about drive me crazy. I was ready to kill some of these pretty Elves: specifically, Blondie._

 _Talking about Blondie, he hasn't come lately. It's been a relief for both of us, because if he had kept on calling, I would have certainly messed up his beautiful face._

 _The Princess Idril keeps up her visits, escorted by Ecthelion. Friend Ecthelion is kinder, enough so that he won't win a black eye like Blondie._

 _In fact, unlike Blondie, the good Ecthelion also tries to make me talk. And even Egalmoth makes his clumsy attempts._

 _Among Idril, Egalmoth, and Ecthelion ... Idril is the best; Ecthelion has the second place and the third place goes to Egalmoth. And the last place is, of course, for Blondie._

 _The gardens where I am now allowed to visit are very beautiful. These Elf guys know gardening. The horticulturists would be very welcome in any European palace._

 _The truth is, I have never been a big fan of flowers, insects or grass... but it feels better to be outside and feel the breeze and see the clouds and the sky then staring at the ceiling of my bedroom._

 _One thing that catches my attention, there is no pollution. The only other place I found like this was the Scandinavian Fjords, where I traveled in order to eliminate a few scientists, in a rather unpleasant way._

 _To date, I have managed to maintain my facade of having no idea of what is happening. Although, from time to time, I have my suspicions that the infamous Idril has some idea about me. These are times that being a telepath would have been nice, so I could see what she really thought. She has some opinion about me, that's a fact. She treats me deferentially. Deference that has a double intention: to gain my confidence and to get answers._

 _Speaking of answers, I've been working very scrupulously on a very,_ very _good alibi of what happened. If I tell the truth ... I'm sure these Elves try to kill me. But even if they couldn't, they would still cart me off to a dungeon, which isn't an idea I particularly like._

 _So, my alibi must be excellent, because I have to convince ten elves, including Blondie. And I'm sure the princess will also be there who, who seems to be a pretty intelligent Elf._

 _I have my alibi ready now. It's said the bolder the lie, the easier people believe it. It always worked for me, we'll see if these rules apply with the Elves._

 _I have also had time to learn their language. Idril and now Ecthelion and Egalmoth try to gain my trust by talking to me, and now I know their language. Not perfectly, but well enough to understand and have a conversation. I consider myself in something like level C-1 in Quenya, the native dialect, despite its complexity._

 _Fortunately, no one has the slightest suspicion that I understand them. They talk about the_ _ **Orcor**_ _, the things I killed; the firíma (ergo: me), my state of health, ... but usually what they tell me are banalities, which have their use. These trifles allowed me to learn their language. Which I must add that it is very different from any other I know._

 _Ah yes! There's something interesting that I found out ... I'm in a city called Gondolin and it is hidden from everyone ... especially from a guy they call nothing but the 'Unnamed'. Apparently, they're pretty scared of him._

 _I am located in a valley called_ Tumladen _that is surrounded by mountains called_ Echoriath _. I also know that there is a mega huge eagle named Throndor, who is their lookout._

 _I have searched through my memory for something about Gondolin but haven't come up with anything._

 _Anyway ... right now, I'm waiting for the right moment to show you Elves that this_ 'firíma' _is not anybody. These bastards believed that Men, including_ me _, are stupid and weak. But you will see! This 'daughter of Men' was able to learn your language just by listening to it. Oh, I want to see your face. But I'll wait to surprise Blondie with it ...I'm going to rub it in his face, teach him he can't treat me like that. Maybe I can't by force, but words do just as well when you know how to use them.'_

* * *

Tumladen was white, and the trees drooped their snow-clad boughs. The world was silvered by moon and glittered in the day. Two moons had waxed and waned since the banquet of the King, and during that time the prisoner had not changed.

When she was escorted to the gardens, she had at first shown interest in the plants and clouds, but after a couple of days, her interest had vanished.

Little by little everyone had begun to despair. The king had asked Nestaë if there was any hope that the prisoner would speak again. The Healer had told him that the prisoner was in good health in body but weakened in mind. What Idril believed happened in the captive's past had put up a barrier. Glorfindel alone agreed with the Celebrindal.

* * *

It was a sunlit morning, and by the pool in the garden, Egalmoth was endeavoring to get some reaction from the woman, but in vain. After an hour of fruitless labor, he was glad to see Glorfindel and Ecthelion arrive through the leafless willows.

"My friends," he said, rising from the bench. "Has the King called a Council or are you coming to relieve me?"

The Lords looked at each other reluctantly.

"We have received orders, that since the Princess cannot come today, we shall keep her company," said Glorfindel, striving to keep his voice bland.

"But we cannot talk to her!" cried Lord Egalmoth. "All these months have passed, and we have tried in vain!"

"This was the King's command, Egalmoth," said Ecthelion wearily. "This is not something I relish, but the King's command is the King's command. Although they may appear meaningless," he added.

"Meaningless?" Lord Glorfindel repeated exasperatedly. "We have all tried, and we have all failed!"

"According to Nestaë, her body recovered physically, but her mind was damaged," said Ecthelion, trying to calm his hot-blooded companion.

Egalmoth remarked gloomily, "So, she will never be able to answer our questions."

"Let us not lose hope, my friends," answered Ecthelion. He was the oldest Elf present, and the most even-tempered. " Perchance at some point, the Válar will remember us and we will achieve our purpose. The Princess had said this will take a lengthy amount of time." he continued encouragingly.

"Time that we do not have," retorted Glorfindel sharply. The Elf-lord had more patience for the young woman after he had witnessed the scene, but he still was anxious for the City he had sworn to protect. "I do not care to dissent from the Princess' opinion, but our position is hopeless. She will never understand us."

"And why shouldn't I be able to understand you...Blondie?" demanded a female voice behind them.

* * *

 **So, seems that Laura finally has decided to leave her façade of not able to understand them. What will happen? Why did she do that?**

 **Waiting your reviews guys!**


	8. Before the Council

**Hi guys!**

 **Let's see what's the alibi Laura prepared and Glorfindel's reaction to his new... 'pet-name'.**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8: Before the Council**_

"And why shouldn't I be able to understand you ... _Blondie_?" Demanded a female voice.

Glorfindel spun round first, his eyes searching the snow-whitened gardens. The only creature there, besides his companions, was the _firíma_. His eyes widened with amazement. She was leaning forward on the bench, an insolent smile on her thin lips. On seeing his bewilderment, her smile broadened.

"What?" she asked with affected innocence, getting up and coming towards them. Her feet crunched through the snow. "What's the surprise?" She laughed. "Wait, I know! Is it that a human...what's the catchy name you've given me... ah, right, the _firíma._ Is that a _firíma_ can learn the language of the _amazing_ _Quendi_ race?" Her tone was contemptuous now, cutting through the cold air like a knife.

Ecthelion stepped forward to meet her. She stopped and crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him.

"Who taught you to speak our tongue?" he asked evenly, his keen grey eyes searching her green ones.

"You. Why, yes, of course, you!" she continued with a scornful smile. "The fact that I'm not a pointy ear doesn't mean I can't learn all by myself."

Glorfindel's voice was trembling with anger.

"It seems that you are not overly burdened with manners." He said

She ignored him.

"C'mon, c'mon!" she continued. "You spend your time, thinking, and what's worse, saying that I am so inferior because I'm a human. Now I'm telling you what I think of you, in your own language. Do I have that right ... or not? Perhaps only the _Quendi_ are entitled to it? I don't think so. Don't you agree, Lord Egalmoth?"

The Steward of Gondolin looked calmer than his _Vanya_ companion. Although he lacked the age and wisdom of Lord Ecthelion, he had the sobriety to remain composed.

"So, you mastered our language by listening to us speaking it?" Lord Ecthelion asked.

The woman nodded.

"All of you, especially Princess Idril, were very kind to teach me. Well, all except for _'Blondie'_ ," she added, jerking a thumb at Lord Glorfindel.

Ecthelion smiled tightly.

"A _'blondie_?' Would you pray enlighten we of the simple _Quendi_?"

Laura looked at Ecthelion for a few moments, and then she switched her gaze to the Chieftain of the Golden Flower.

"It's a person who just can't do anything right. In this case, I think the noun applies to our friend Glorfindel, who remains in a continuous state of stupidity."

Glorfindel took a quick step forward, his hand on his sword-hilt, and Laura recoiled slightly.

"How do you dare!" he shouted.

Ecthelion pushed him back.

Laura chuckled scornfully, adding fuel to his rage, but her eyes sparkled with fury:

"How dare you treat me so badly, _Blondie_!"

"Calm yourself, my friend," said Ecthelion, in a voice low enough for only his young and outraged friend to hear. He added in a louder voice, taking Glorfindel by the arm, "Egalmoth, care for her." Laura did not catch the whisper, but she smirked, guessing what they said.

Glorfindel drew in a deep breath and turned to the woman.

"This will not stay this way, _firíma_ ," he said softly, his tone low and dangerous.

Laura's jaw clenched as she heard the name, but she answered him sweetly.

"Oh no! Of course not, _Blondie_ , of course not!"

* * *

Glorfindel was silent as they hurried through the streets, but Ecthelion sensed his rage as clearly as if he had spoken. The young _Vanya's_ knuckles were white as he gripped his sword handle, and his jaw was tightly clenched. His blue eyes narrowed as he looked back towards the Healing House, radiating fury.

With a soft sigh, his breath white in the frozen air, Ecthelion looked around him. The frost-blushed evening smiled. The world was covered with silver, and all the trees drooped their branches like hoary fountains, while the very fountains of Gondolin were frozen as they fell. _Vàsa_ spread arms of gold and violet across the sky, although her face was now hidden behind the Encircling Mountains.

Finally, Glorfindel spoke.

"She is a foolish woman, my friend. If she is half as clever as she believes herself, she will know my rank, and that I can influence the Council towards her downfall."

Ecthelion stopped and looked at him.

"She may be a foolish woman, but listen to me, my friend," he said, his voice soft but firm nevertheless. "Her anger is not wholly unjustified. You did not treat her nobly, but always with disdain. And you cannot deny it, Glorfindel," he added sternly. "Do you remember what you did in the sickroom on the first day, when she wished to see your ears? If you had would not have moved, she would not have fallen on her knees. Tell me that that was the lordly thing to do. Nay, my friend, I think you earned your unenviable _epessë_."

Glorfindel's blue eyes kindled, scattering shards of anger. He swallowed hard before he spoke, but still, his voice was loud and indignant.

"Now, you place the blame solely on my shoulders! You surprise me, Ecthelion!"

Ecthelion answered gently "I did not say that. But I understand her hostility. Let me give you some advice, Glorfindel. She enjoys calling you _'Blondie'_ , but you the less anger you show, the less she will savor it."

"Let us go," growled Glorfindel. "My feet are freezing to the ground."

He stalked away, under a high entablature supported by columns of chased silver.

Ecthelion looked around him once more before following his friend. The fires of sunset burned low in the west, and towards the east, a thin sliver of the moon was rising, dancing on the snow.

"Glorfindel," he continued. "Do not humor her by letting her see your anger. And let me speak to the King."

The _Vanya_ nodded curtly and drew a deep breath. The tinkle of unfrozen fountains inside the palace had helped diminish his furor for a moment, but he had not forgotten the _firíma's_ insult.

* * *

 _Vàsa's_ light had died away, the stars lending silver light to the sky. Inside the council-chamber, the star-sheen glimmered faintly, for the lamps were unlit.

Ecthelion's voice died away into echoes, and Turgon's answer had grave tension and disbelief.

"What!"

"To what are you referring, my Lord?" asked the Lord of the Fountains cautiously. He had finished recounting what had befallen that afternoon, avoiding telling of the insult given to Glorfindel. By his side, Glorfindel stood, glad of the shadows to hide his anger.

"Why has she revealed to us that she can speak _Quenya_? Only for childish reasons? That seems foolish." answered Turgon, recovered from his surprise. He looked at Ecthelion piercingly, his slender height emphasized by his tense posture. "This is dangerous to us. Although I doubt that any of us were so foolhardy, we may have said something ill-advised before her." He paused, and then said decisively, "Summon all the Lords of Gondolin to this chamber."

The Elf Lords bowed when Turgon addressed the younger.

"Glorfindel, I have noticed you were silent. Is there aught that troubles you?"

Before he could reply, Ecthelion answered.

"It was naught; only a small disturbance between the woman and Glorfindel."

"Indeed." said the King, observing their faces for a response.

"The _firíma_ called him _'Blondie'_ , which means half-wit or dullard," Ecthelion added no more, he did not think it fair to bring such matters before others. Glorfindel cast him a look of silent gratitude, that the King did not miss, although he remained silent.

"I see," murmured Turgon. "Lord Glorfindel, my friend, put aside your anger and keep your mind clear. To make a fair ruling, we must be even-tempered and even-handed. Now, go summon the other Lords!"

Lord Glorfindel bowed and left the king's presence.

Both the High-King and the Lord of the Fountains stayed behind, watching him depart.

"Do you have any bidding for me to carry out, my King?" asked Ecthelion once Glorfindel was gone.

"Do you and Egalmoth bring the _firíma_ to the counsel-chamber once we are gathered here," said Turgon.

"Aye, my Lord. Will the Princess Idril be present? She understands the woman far better than any of us, and her counsel will be invaluable."

Turgon smiled, proudly, tenderly.

"Aye, the Lily of _Loth-a-ladwen_ has done admirably. She will be here."

"One other word of warning, my Lord. Do not place Glorfindel near the woman. She will insult him again, of this I am sure, and he is young and hotheaded. And, I think we will do well not to call her _'firíma'_."

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _'To tell the truth, I simply could not resist. Those three elves so firmly believed that I was a lost cause and that they would never know the answers they want so much._

 _How I enjoyed seeing their expressions. The stupid Elves who believed they were completely superior were taken down by a 'firíma'._

 _Ha! Ha! I'm rubbing it in your pretty faces! Humans are so much more than you think. If you were so very intelligent and 'pro' you would never have given me the tools to learn your language._

 _Of course, I must accept that they are so blinded by their arrogance that it didn't even occur to them that I, who have been trained to learn things like this, could use their "kindness" to get the upper hand._

 _The expressions of those Elves were really for Ripley, but the one that had no rival was Blondie's. Oh, Blondie! So childish! LOL!_

 _How I enjoyed it, rubbing his own stupidity in his pretty face. I would have enjoyed it, even more, to rub in my claws and leave some pretty scars to remind him that NO ONE can treat me like that. I've been treated like this for more than ten years, and I think that's more than enough. And I will not tolerate a guy, who is more handsome than an angel and is more unbearable than a stone in the shoe._

 _How it irked me I had to cringe when he decided to draw his little sword. I intend to keep doing it though; looking scared when the Elves play with weapons._

 _Fortunately, friend Ecthelion could control him because otherwise he and I would have had a rather unpleasant moment. His pretty face would become a memory, and I would be in severe trouble. But the good Ecthelion managed to control his friend. No doubt that guy is much more reasonable than Blondie._

 _Now that Blondie is going to be at the Council, I wonder how he will behave. Would he have gone to tell the king how naughty I was? Hahaha! I can already imagine it:_

 _'Oh my lord, the firíma called me' Blondie: stupid by nature!'_

 _I wonder what Turgon's reaction would have been. And, above all, what will be the of their Council be, because they are coming for me. Anyway, it's time to put my alibi in play... and tell off 'Blondie'. Because if he thinks that because I'm in front of everyone I'll stop calling him that, he's very, very wrong.'_

* * *

The council-chamber was silent, although the King and the Princess were gathered there around the marble table with all the Lords of Gondolin. Many-hued lamps of glass burned, casting their shadows on the white-gleaming floor and pillars.

The King had finished speaking, finishing with an admonition to avoid calling the stranger _firíma_ , and all the echoes had died away when the doors opened. The mortal entered, accompanied by guards of the Heavenly Arch and the Fountains, their Lords at their head. She looked pale and frightened in the lamplight, and her pallor increased when she saw Glorfindel half rise from his chair, his hand on his sword.

She was effectively weaponless for the moment, for she would not show her mutation, but her sharp tongue served her well enough.

Instead, Laura crossed her arms defensively, her shoulders hunched over like a cornered animal.

Turgon spoke first. The pose of the young stranger showed that she was both nettled and confused, and his wisdom told him that the most expedient thing he could do was stand firm, but, remain kind.

"I have been told by the Lord Ecthelion-and Lord Egalmoth and Glorfindel verify this-that you have learned one of our tongues."

"Yes," answered Laura shortly.

"How was this?"

"Why do you ask, Your Majesty? Surely these Elf-lords-" she waved her hand towards Glorfindel, who sat beside the Princess, "have already told you that it was you taught me your language."

There was a tense silence at the audacity of the words.

"Do you know who I am then?" asked Turgon softly, holding the woman's green-eyed gaze.

"King Turgon of the city of Gondolin," she answered confidently. "I learned the names of you, Ecthelion, Egalmoth and _Blondie_ first, thanks to you."

Glorfindel flushed with anger. Idril laid a calming hand on his arm, her blue eyes arresting any action.

"What then is a _'Blondie'_?" asked Lord Galdor.

"Why don't you explain it to them, _Blondie_? You'd know best of all," answered Laura, looking at the golden-haired Vanya.

He did not answer, but the muscles of his arm tensed under Idril's constraining hand, and his eyes glittered.

"Where I come from, a _'blondie'_ is someone considered stupid, and clumsy at any given moment. Although considering who I'm talking about, Glorfindel does not just have the characteristics of a _Blondie_ for a moment, but it is his nature. Isn't that right, _Blondie_?" She finished with a mocking laugh.

Glorfindel shook of Idril's hand and leaped to his feet, banging his fist on the marble table.

"This is more than enough, _firíma_!" he shouted.

" _Firíma_?!" repeated Laura. " _Firíma_?! Excuse me, Blondie, but this _firíma_ learned Quenya on her own! So-"

"Enough!" A voice thundered.

Both the young Elf and the young woman turned sharply. King Turgon had risen from his throne, the Staff of Doom raised in his hand. His gray eyes flashed with an impatient light. The actions of both were unendurable, moreover when on this matter was hinged not only the safety of the City but the protection of his beloved daughter.

"Enough!" Repeated the king, sitting down. "We have not met to banter insults. We want to know to have the answers you have hidden on us," Turgon said, gazing at Laura, who showed fear, some of which was pretended and some genuine. "Do you know that truth is the fairest thing to the Eldar. But liars we despise," he continued, fixing Laura's gaze in his own. "But surely you must know that, after all these months living among us, gathering knowledge about us. Who will you give that knowledge too? Who is your master? The Enemy?" he finished, his voice like steel.

Upon hearing the accusation, Laura blanched and then frowned, truly insulted. Why would those stupid Elves make such an accusation against her?

The Princess darted a glance at her father. The accusation he had made was terrible and could well be the ruin of the foreigner.

Laura noticed the quick look. It was time to make a desperate gamble and play on the feelings of each of these Elves, including Glorfindel. Only by using pathos and lies would she be able to convince these stupid, and yet clever Elves.

Laura had learned during the months that Elves were sensitive creatures. Their sensibilities were different from those of humans, but she had realized that Elves were more fine-tuned. What would be for a human an act of love, was for the Elves an act of friendship and goodwill. They felt everything more deeply, with overwhelmingly strong feelings that ran in rivers deeper than the sea, compared to man's shallow channel. She would use that sensitivity as well as the moral values that were so ingrained to her benefit.

 _'Here we go_ ,' she thought, drawing a deep breath. "Enemy?" she repeated, in feigned astonishment.

"You know well who I speak of," Turgon answered coolly.

"The most I know is that there is a guy that you call the _'Unnamed'_ and that, is your enemy. Apparently, it's a very powerful enemy because all of you do not want to leave this city for fear of this guy. And that's the only thing I've heard you say, alright?"

"I have a doubt," interjected Lord Maeglin. He sat at the King's right hand. "Since when do you understand our language?"

Laura shrugged, swallowing that unpleasant sensation she had every time his piercing black eyes were upon her. "About four or five weeks ago."

"And what was the purpose of hiding it for this long?" asked Lord Duilin. "Surely that casts doubt on your defense of not knowing who the _Unnamed_ is."

Laura rolled her eyes.

"Again, with that guy!" she said impatiently. "Look, not everything is connected to this ' _Enemy_.'"

"And that shows how little you know, _firíma_!" snarled Duilin, his blue eyes hot and bright.

"Oh, excuse me!" she sneered, her face hard with anger. "Excuse me for not knowing everything like the great _Quendi_ do!"

Turgon's voice rolled across the hall like the crash of thunder. "Hold your peace!"

Duilin sat back in his chair and Laura scowled but bit her tongue.

"We do not care to banter words with you." Said the king

Turgon's pose was rigid as he stood, enraged at the actions of his Lords and the woman. It was clear to him she was enjoying this, and she had prepared her words beforehand. She was dominating them, manipulating them.

But they were Elves, far above her in years, and he would not allow his people to do as she wished.

"Look at me," he said. When she did so, he continued. "It would be wise for your own sake to answer my questions. If you consider us soft because we live behind our great walls, think again before you try to deceive us!"

Laura nodded. The king's anger had at last silenced the room. Turgon let the hush continue for a moment more, holding her gaze locked in his own. "By what are you called?"

"My name is Hwa-Young," she replied. "It means _'beautiful flower'_."

"The name does not suit her then," Glorfindel muttered.

Laura kept her eyes trained on Turgon, but the lacerating whisper felt like a knife that had been twisted in her gut. Never before had she wanted to kill him as much as she did now. But she kept calm, knowing that any violence would ruin her alibi. Instead, she repeated her name, noting the quizzical glances it had gained. "Hwa-Young, my name is Hwa-Young. Apparently, our names are strange to you, as yours are to me."

The King continued. "So, that is the naming custom of your people. Where is their land?"

"North Korea."

A murmur rose among those present. None had heard of it.

Lord Ecthelion asked, "Where is this realm, North Korea?" He was the most versed there gathered in questions of geography and music.

"Um ... north of South Korea? It is a large island."

Turgon frowned. "How come you to this place, so far from your isle?"

"I cannot answer the question, Your Majesty, because I don't have the faintest idea how," said Laura honestly.

"And how should we believe you?" Penlod queried, his brow low and frowning.

"Because I have the right to be believed!" Exclaimed Laura. "We all have the right to be given an opportunity to show who we are! Or have the _Quendi_ forgotten what it is to be merciful? You think that Men are barbaric, but at least humans give an individual that opportunity!"

Maeglin looked at her sharply, a flicker of emotion passing over his face. Laura noticed, and brightened inwardly. Here was a weapon she could use in the future.

There was a silence. The words of the _firíma_ could not be rebutted. The king who spoke again. "Do you remember the _**Orcor**_?"

Laura shivered, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

"Ye-e-e-s," she said hesitantly, her voice suddenly weak with the memory of fear. "If you mean those beasts, yes, I remember them well." She swallowed. "Th-they said they would do something to me. I-I didn't understand many of the words,-they switched between languages- but they said something about...about eating me." She swallowed and looked up. "They weren't, were they?"

"And how did you kill them?" Asked the King, pressing her, for she seemed to be confused.

"Ki ... ki ... kill?" She stammered. "Me? I can't even defend myself!"

Turgon looked at her impassively, pushing her. Laura recognized it and changed strategies.

"You do not believe me, do you, Your Majesty?" She said, angrily. "Well, believe what you want! If you want to lock me in the dungeon for life, I don't care! What's left for me? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! The only thing that remained to me was the hope of living in a country that was different from mine, peaceful and... you have destroyed that hope by imprisoning me in a golden cage!" she said, raising her voice while her eyes filled with tears. "So, go ahead! Shut me up. There is nothing left to lose." she finished in a muffled voice.

"What do you mean you have nothing more to lose?" Asked the Princess softly.

For a few minutes, the young woman did not answer. She hugged herself, her gaze cast on the floor, and then began to speak slowly.

"My country of origin is called North Korea. When I was a little girl, it was governed by the king who was just, and we had what we needed. It was a place where one could be happy. But, as you say, the race of Men is mortal, and one day they die. That happened with the King, and his son Kim Jong-un ascended the throne. Unlike his father, he was terrible, cruel, ambitious. His rule changed the life of all Korean people, and we all suffered under his cruel regime.

"He immediately started looking for all those who stood in the way and those whom he considered a danger to him and his government. That person and his family were sent to 'labor camps' where they were forced to work all day doing almost impossible tasks and were given very little food. It was said that they continued working without rest until their clothes fell to pieces. After this, the guards of the 'labor camps' killed them, but they tortured them first, and raped the women..." Her voice trailed away, gauging the response of her hearers before she continued.

"My family and I lived in the capital of the country, Pyongyang. My father was Chin-Mae; my mother, Hwun-Ok; my older brother, Chung-Ae; and myself, Hwa-Young." Laura paused. "We lived happily. My father was a rich man, but he was not greedy or deceptive. In fact, he was known for living up to his name which means: _the one who always speaks the truth_. We Koreans attach great importance to the meaning of the name because it shows the nature of the person.

"My mother was known for her beauty and her wisdom, so there was nothing odd about her name meaning _'beautiful and wise pearl'_. As for my older brother …he was noble and tender with me and with my parents, just as his name means. He ... used to tell me stories and sing me to sleep." Laura finished with a smile of false and tender sadness.

"And what befell your family?" The king finally asked when he saw that the woman was not continuing.

"Kim Jong-un, after having imprisoned or killed all those who could be dangerous towards his career, dedicated himself to... hunt down all those who were rich. And that included us. We had to flee from city to city, so we would not catch us, but each time they were closer to us and at any moment we would reach the point where there would not be a place to hide. It was then that my brother came up with the idea of leaving North Korea and taking refuge in any other country. But fleeing the country included what would be many dangers. We had to cross the sea and we would not find a ship to take us since the government had described us as criminals.

"In addition, we would have to cross a part of the territory of China's kingdom of China that known for its dangers. There were many agents hiding in the forest, working for Kim Jong-un to take ambush fugitives from North Korea and take them back to hell.

Assuming we went to this place, there was no place to buy food because the villages there were afraid of the Chinese who worked for the Korean government.

"And as if that were not enough, to get out of the kingdom of China, we had to go through a border guarded by a band of outlaws who were not only dedicated to theft but rape. It was said that if a woman enjoyed her rape, she would stay as their prisoner..." she trailed off, her green eyes seemed to have fixed on a distant point, but her disciplined mind and training as an assassin allowed her to identify the varying emotions of the Elves.

"My mother," she continued after a few moments, "My mother did not agree to this plan because I was in danger of this fate. She would not allow her virgin daughter to be assaulted. But finally, my father and my brother convinced her. So, we put together the little money we had left as well as our belongings and we commenced the trip.

"Through an old friend of my father, we got a boat, that hardly floated. It was the only way to go unnoticed by the continuous ships that patrolled the sea.

"Fortunately, we passed without notice, but just when we though Luck was smiling on us, a storm began. We were sailing a rickety boat that had no more than three oars, and a shirt of my father as a sail.

"The waves were huge, the sky was black, the lightning dazzled us, and the thunders deafened us. The voices of my father and my brother were barely heard. Suddenly, a huge wave came down on us. What followed I hardly remember it ... water, screams, confusion, the terror of drowning. When I finally got my head to the surface I was totally alone. I was sure I would die and for a moment I thought about letting myself be pulled under by the sea current, but I remembered the courage that my parents and my brother had taught me. So, I chose to swim to where, according to my knowledge, the beaches of China were.

"A few hours later I saw two more people swimming. It was my parents. We were barely able to get together and all night long we were struggling to keep afloat in the middle of that horrible storm.

"The next day we reached the beaches of China, but ... where was my brother? Terrified, we looked for him, only to find him a couple of days later... washed up on the shores of a fishing village ... drowned." She dropped her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Why did Chung-Ae have to die, why?" She asked herself, sobbing softly "Why did he have to drown? He was the best swimmer I have ever met ... he had taught me how to swim! Why did he have to die? Why not me..." There was a rawness to her grief that Laura had perfected, like the pain was still an open wound. Her body shook as she tried to stifle the sobs. She saw the Elves looking at her with compassion and pity, and even sensed a little in Glorfindel.

The King addressed her in a softer voice. "What happened then?"

Laura swallowed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It was only by luck that we went unnoticed by the Chinese agents who returned North Koreans to their country. In the village where we found my brother, they gave us food to continue our flight.

"The next part of the journey was a dangerous swamp, dangerous because of the many snakes and assailants. We had joined a couple of families who also fled from Korea. They thought to go to the forests of the kingdom of Russia and from there, take a train that would take them to Europe."

Lord Rog broke in, "What is this train?"

"It is a very fast means of transport. You can travel for hours without stopping." Laura frowned in surprise. "You don't know what a train is?"

"We do not know," Turgon replied, "but continue with your account."

Laura nodded. "The night was dark. We were frightened to walk because we might sink into mud or be bitten by a snake, so the group decided to light torches.

"My father told them that this was very dangerous and that the assailants who lived there would discover us more quickly because by then he was sure that they were following us. It was a feeling that he had and ..." She laughed mournfully. "And whenever he had a feeling, it always turned out to be true. This occasion was no different. They cornered us. All those who resisted were killed and the others were tied up and taken captive to the attackers' camp.

"We were halfway there, and our captors were taking a rest when my father managed to cut the moorings and freed me and my mother. He told us to flee while he and other men would rescue the others and if they could, they get the weapons. It didn't go as plan. My father was a businessman, and our captors were men who had fought and killed their whole life. My father was wounded in the back while we fled and died in our arms. His last words were: _'Be strong for me and for Chung-Ae.'_

"My mother and I didn't know what to do. It seemed unreal that our family was disappearing...dying one by one. But the yells of the assailants reminded us that we were still in danger, so leaving the corpse we fled through the swamp without stopping until we reached the border."

Laura paused, and took in another breath, blinking quickly. She saw that the Princess was looking at her with tender compassion and felt sure she had gained at least one ally by this fiction.

"For several days we traveled with a small group. We tried desperately, my mother and I, not to fall into the hands of the mercenaries, but it was impossible for us. One afternoon, when my mother and I were watching the sunset, the mercenaries attacked us. They killed the men and took the women to our camp, taking us further away from Russia. There ..." Laura lowered her voice almost to be imperceptible. "I saw ... I saw ..." Her green eyes brimmed with tears. "It was the worst place I've been!"

"Did they ...?" Asked Idril, leaning forward.

Laura shook her head, tears running down her cheeks.

"Not to me, but ... to ... to ... my mother ...!" The tears overflowed her voice; it was thick when she spoke again. "They forced me to see and I ... they told me it was me or her ... My mom chose to stay as their slave and me... I saw ...!" Laura began to mourn inconsolably. She covered her face with her hands, but between her fingers, she did not lose sight of their faces. That lie had had a better effect on them than she had thought it would.

Turgon gave her time to control her sobs.

"How did you get here?" he repeated. His voice was no longer fearsome, but compassionate, although his gray eyes never left the sobbing woman.

"I do not know," she answered at last. "When they were busy ..." she took a deep breath, screwing her eyes shut as if to lock out the memories. "I took a horse and used the knowledge that my father had taught me about the stars and constellations. I headed north without stopping; I forced the horse to keep running until he fell dead. Only then, I thought I was far enough away from those ...Now I only had to cross the forest to get to the village and from there take the train that would take me to Moscow, which is the capital of Russia. From there, I planned to go to either Finland or Denmark. There I would be totally safe, they are very beautiful kingdoms and there was an opportunity for me to start a new life ... or so I thought."

She frowned, narrowing her eyes as if to recall all details.

"When I was walking, I suddenly smelled something horrible and shortly after I saw some horrible beings who said that it looked like my flesh was fresh. I do not know how it was that I understood them, but I was so scared I ran. These monsters, _**Orcor**_ , you call them, followed me. Then ... then I remember that I hid in the hollow trunk of a tree and then ... I heard the noise of fighting. And then nothing. Finally, I dared to leave, and I saw that everyone was dead ... or so I thought because suddenly, I felt something stab me in the back.

"I ran, I ran...I don't know about the _**Orcor**_ , but I do know that whoever shot that thing wanted to kill me." Laura rocked back slightly, her eyes wide like a fearful deer. She hugged her arms, trembling with that terrible memory.

"It's possible," the king answered. "However, he did not succeed. And he did not follow you, for we found you hurt. After which, you healed yourself."

"Yes. All Korean women have that ability… our body heals itself like that. It is something we have for protection when we birth a baby." Laura added deliberately, knowing that that matter was very important to the Elves. "Korean men have physical force too; they can carry heavy stones," she added to show she was eager to give answers.

"So, you have no clew as to who could have killed the _**Orcor**_?" Lord Ecthelion asked, returning matter that had the greatest consequences to him and his people.

"Not even the remotest idea. As I told you, I can't fight. You heard how I've lived...do you think I would stay to watch someone fight? I fled and hid. That's how I've survived so far."

"We must consider this matter. We will summon you when we have a final answer," said Turgon in a kind voice, but one that brooked no reply.

He rose from his throne, and Lord Egalmoth and the guards led her away from the chamber.

Laura smiled inwardly as she was taken back to her room. She knew perfectly that she had succeeded in deceiving those Elves, and even more, moving them to compassion. Her training had been good, yes, very good. Now, it was only a matter of time before they let her go.

* * *

 **So... what do you think guys? Seems that Laura is a very good liar. Let's see in the next chapter if she did a good job, as good as she thinks she did.**

 **Waiting for you reviews guys!**


	9. Not 'exactly' what was expected

**Hello people!**

 **Hoping this story until now is going well. Let's see what was the resolution of the Council and the king.**

 **I appreciate your reviews animal56. They're a moral support and even a compass to this story.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 9: Not 'exactly' what was expected**_

 **Laura's POV**

 _'The Elves were easier to manipulate than I thought. I never imagined that I would be able to move them to such a degree… I even moved Blondie, despite the fact that I insulted him in front of everyone._

 _Ha! How I enjoyed that moment! To see his pretty face flush with anger at my rudeness. Yes, rudeness. Because if there's something that characterizes me when I'm angry or when I'm just not in the mood, I'm quite rude and insolence. I know just how to choose words so that they hurt or anger people. It's a special knack of mine._

 _I must admit that Turgon turned out to be a different type than I formerly thought. I believe that Turgon is the only one on the list, apart from the director of the Facility and Xavier, who managed to shut up an entire room. He was almost intimidating. The anger in his eyes was not exactly reassuring._

 _I give you that, friend Turgon. You know how to impose your authority on everyone, even your Elf-Lords and a mutant like me._

 _I wonder if Idril will have inherited that trait._

 _I believe I had found out a weapon in my favor. The Queen was not present, which leaves me with two options. She is seriously ill, which is improbable because the case would be in Nestaë's hands, and I would most likely know about it, or the King is a widower. If this is the case, it would give me a great advantage._

 _Of course, I must use this wisely, because if I put his Idril in danger, he will kill me. Ha! Or at least he will try. Even if these Elves are indeed the firstborn of Zeus as they believe, they won't be able too._

 _But now, I know an argument, in case they try to restrain me. 'Please, if you let me go, Idril will be safe.' Surely that will encourage them to let me go with a fuss. They may even have their mega-eagle guardian leave somewhere away from the Echoriath._

 _Another very interesting weapon was the gesture of the goth Elf... Maeglin. Something must have happened to his mother, for when I mentioned my 'mother', he flinched._

 _There is some resemblance between he and Idril, so they are relatives, but not brother and sister. This may be useful at some point, especially because he has an important place in the Council, at the King's right hand._

 _As for the others, there is not much to say. They were extremely moved. As I predicted: these guys are extremely sensitive, in their own way. And their family values are highly prized, so the little story about my 'father' and even more my 'mother', was a nice touch, really a nice touch!_

 _I made a good performance, I'm sure I could have duped Remy or Logan._

 _One other thing that also plays in my favor is that these Elves have spent a long time hidden in this place. This is an advantage because they only know that bad things are happening out there, but since they don't have the precise knowledge, they are very gullible. It's like they're in a glass bubble. Although they are intelligent in many things (however much I do not like them, I have to give them that); but being in their bubble makes them gullible and naïve. Those qualities may be good things at times, but not when you meet someone like me._

 _Anyway, let's see the result. God, I want to get out of here! Being allowed only in the bedroom and the garden and being watched all the time at that is making me sick.'_

* * *

 **Idril's POV**

' _Now I understand many things._

 _Alas for the mortal woman. She has suffered so much. She too has lost her mother, and how terribly! This explains the sadness I saw in her eyes, it explains many things._

 _I have not had close dealings with any Man among the Second Born: the Atanatari Húrin and Huor did not remain here long and I did deal much with them, but I do not wonder at my father's distrust now._

 _Nay, I do not trust the children of Men, but not everyone is evil. To send the woman on her way would be a death penalty for her, for she could be found the evils that lurk in all shadows._

 _My voice, if no other in this chamber, will be raised on her behalf. Perchance, I may aid her, lighten her suffering.'_

* * *

 **Glorfindel's POV**

 _'The tale of the firíma is a tale of pain and woe, and above all, loneliness. Now I understand her expression while she was singing, moons ago. Mayhap she was singing a song that her older brother or one of her parents taught her, it was her way of comforting herself. It seems the Princess was right again, that there was something fearful that befell to her, and she hid away under a cloak of illness._

 _I feel regretful of having treated her so coldly,_ _ **if**_ _her tale is indeed true. If it is, I can comfort myself that the unkind way I treated her finally led her to speak. That makes the name 'Blondie' a morsel more bearable._ Hútath _! For the moment, I shall strive and be even-handed._

 _Nevertheless, what still concerns me is the knowledge she had to have to learn our tongue. How many more things has she learned while feigning to be weak-minded? She was able to mislead Nestaë! And that, in such matters, is no child's play. I would say it was nigh impossible._

 _It will be best for all if she stays in the City. Although it will embitter my life considerably, it is more desirable than running a gauntlet of danger.'_

* * *

The stars were pale in the predawn darkness; soon did the blossom of dawn promise to flower, as Lord Egalmoth returned to the Council Chamber.

The King spoke once he was seated.

"My Lords, the night grows old and soon morning and our duties will be upon us. We have heard the tale of the _firíma_. Many of our questions have been answered, but not to our satisfaction."

Lord Galdor answered,

"All your words are truth, High-King. We still know not how she found the Hidden City."

Duilin's bright eyes searched the countenances of all present, but returned to the grave, keen face of Turgon.

"My Lords, none here know the realms she has spoken of. We cannot unriddle how she arrived her if we do not know her birth-land. Peradventure she is lying!"

Lord Salgant leaned forward, the jeweled rings on his fingers flashing in the lantern light.

"Lying?" He repeated "my Lord, surely you cannot think the woman was trying to deceive us! Surely, you saw her sorrowful state."

"Aye, I saw it, Salgant! It is true that she shed many tears, but tears do not signify truth! Have we grown so slow behind our walls that we witlessly bend to the manipulations of a strange!" rejoined Duilin hotly.

A clear female voice challenged his claim.

"And, my Lord of the Swallow, are you sure she is false?"

Princess Idril sat straight and repeated her question with quiet dignity. "Are you certain she is false? Do you know her so well?" Before the Elf-lord could speak, the Celebrindal continued. "My Lords, I have among all of you have been with Hwa-Young, as she names herself, the most, and I have seen several times a great sadness in her eyes. Sadness that for a few trice's, she could not hide. Now I see why."

"So, you think, my daughter, that the _firíma_ speaks the truth?" asked the King.

Idril turned to her father. "Yes. The sadness in her eyes was true."

"Pardon my insolence, Princess," dared Duilin, a leap of anger quivering his words. "But grief can be feigned. You cannot be certain."

"I am certain!" answered Idril fiercely. "I know grief, I know it too well. It cannot be dissembled to my eyes."

Duilin did not reply.

"My Princess," began green-clad Galdor gently. "Have you spoke to her of how you came by your first grief?"

Idril shook her golden head.

"Nay. Indeed, at no time have any of us made mention of our families or what we have suffered."

"That is the truth. The woman does not know of our past," said Ecthelion seriously.

Turgon frowned. "And is this your opinion, Lord Egalmoth?"

"It is. I believe she knows naught about the Enemy, save his name. And she knows little of the _**Orcor**_..."

Duilin answers him, strengthening his argument.

"And yet she says she understands their foul speech. If that is so, either she lies about understanding or it was a slip of tongue, and she is well-acquainted with them!"

The King raised his hand to hush the fiery Lord of the Swallow.

"You have not dealt with children of Men, but they are also able to understand, some of the _**Orcor**_ tongue. They speak much in the Common Speech, although it is distorted. She may have understood a few words."

Lord Duilin clenched his teeth. How could his fellows be so callow, so trusting? The story she had told them was heartbreaking, it had affected him, but it was not true!

"These realms she mentioned: South Korea, Russia, China, North Korea," Lord Rog said with perplexity. "Lord Ecthelion, have you heard of them?".

The Warden of the Great Gate shook his raven head. "No," he said simply.

"There are kingdoms to the far south, removed from our borders," said Lord Salgant. "She may come from here?"

Galdor seconds this, saying "That seems sound. And it the better for us to be separated from Secondborn who serve the Unnamed."

Penlod frowned slightly. "Then are there still Men pursuing her?"

There was a silence. If Penlod the Tall spoke aright, the Elves would be forced to deal with cruel men. And while they were thus engaged, some spy may find the City, and tell his Master.

"I think not," said Lord Maeglin finally. "She is a long way from the camp of those..." He did not finish, but his black brows were lowered. The flight of the _firíma_ and her mother reminded him of his own flight from the dark woods, and the death of his beloved mother: _The White Lady_.

"Is that your counsel, sister-son?" asked Turgon. Maeglin was wise, the wisest among the Council, despite his youth.

Maeglin addressed the Council.

"Yes, gracious King. These men, perceiving that they have in their power the mother, and seeing that this one has fled far, they may believe she has arrived at the Kingdom of Russia. They will not risk an attempt to recapture her; there is no advantage to that."

"And what of the **Orcor**?" said Duilin, his arms folded across his chest.

"That is what I could not say, Lord Duilin because my surmises do not amount too much. But the _firíma_ could not have been answerable for that. Surely you see how she recoils from weapons?"

"The _**Orcor**_ gore on her hands," said Lord Rog shortly. "How do you read that?"

"My Lord, if she crawled away through the corpses of her attackers, her hands would be dirtied with their blood."

There was another pause. Dawn glowed in the east, rose and gold. It was coming into full-flower, and its light fell on the faces of those present.

Turgon fastened his grey eyes on the blue gaze of the half-Vanya. "What is your counsel, Lord Glorfindel?"

The Chieftain of the Golden Flower was silent for a moment, while eyes were fixed upon him.

Now that the Elf-lord knew the history of the woman, he understood the reason for the great loneliness in her eyes. He himself was not surrounded by companions. Certainly, Gondolin loved him for his services, and he had friends stout and true, but for the most part, he sought retreat in arts of war, or in music. He was skilled with the flute, and more so with the lyre. He had no family. His father had died in the Battle of _Lammoth_ , and his mother passed soon after out of grief. Ere her blue eyes could behold this small _Tirìon_ in Middle-Earth, in the green grass sea, she had lain down and died, leaving him alone. In this way, he saw himself mirrored in the woman, although her slight stood in the way of defense and even friendship.

For a moment, he thought of speaking of her song, but he refrained for a reason he did not know.

"Like all of you, my Lords," he began, slowly, choosing his words with care. "I am perplexed at the idea of kingdoms that are so distant and so evil, a true scion of the Enemy's darkness. Assuredly, Lord Maeglin's argument is sound and it seems to me that my accusations against her were unfounded, which I hope." He took a breath, looking at Idril. She was watching him closely, a pleased smile playing around her delicate lips.

"What still appears most baffling, is that if she did not slay the _**Orcor**_ , who did? Because _Quendë_ the warrior was not, the footprints showed that. They were marks no _Quendë_ would leave, even less a _Quendë_ so war-wise."

"You mentioned before that it seemed the warrior tried to cast you off his trail, but when you stayed on the track, you found the _firíma_ ," said Duilin. "It seems to me that the evidence of your eyes does not lie. The woman has had many months to fabricate a well-thought falsehood."

"I am rather of the idea, my lord, that the warrior first tried to take her away, but seeing her wound, chose to leave her where he knew she would be found," answered Ecthelion. "Perchance he carried her to the place, and the tracks looked unlike our own because of her weight."

Lord Salgant said again, "This is not without reason. A _Quendë_ , and even perhaps an _Atan_ , would do such a thing for mercy. He has also done us a great service by slaying the _**Orcor**_ and preventing any spies from returning to the Unnamed." He looked to the King as he spoke.

"Certainly, my Lord Salgant," Turgon answered. "But why would he then flee? After having done us so great a favor, he would know he is safe and certain to be welcomed within our walls."

"Not all _Quendi_ are welcome here," replied Lord Rog. He spoke of the sons of Fëanor, but Maeglin's face darkened, for neither were the Dark Elves welcome and still less the sons of Men.

"Is it likely that this warrior remains in Tumladen?" asked the King, looking to Duilin, who shook his tawny head. "Nay. Thorondor, Lord of the Eagles, and his folk have searched all the Valley and even the Encircling Mountains. A cadre of my Swallow-archers guard every corner of Tumladen. None can escape their eyes."

"Then the warrior left the _firíma_ in our hands, so we would heal her," said Idril.

"Your warrior is very kind for one who slew the _**Orcor**_ in such a ruthless manner," answered Lord Duilin bitterly.

"And why not, my lord? War is one thing. It is another to aid those who are wounded. You are known for your courage, and your great skill with the bow, and yet, at the time of helping the hurt ... are you willing to support the healers? "

Lord Duilin looked at Idril. Her cheeks were bright with defiance and the roseate light of dawn and defiance, she dared him with her blue eyes.

"Princess, you are wise and fair. But peradventure, because you seek to see all things as they should be, you may be blinded towards darker things."

"Or perhaps, my lord, you see darkness in all things." Lord Maeglin sharply retorted, his firm, fair voice penetrating. "Idril is right. We are all warriors, we are all well-versed in the art of war, but do we know what it is to be compassionate? The _firíma_ spoke at least one truth. Belike, the _Quendi_ do boast wisdom higher than the Secondborn. Let us, therefore, see that the warrior saved her, believing aright that we would treat with kindness as well as healing her."

"So, your counsel, Maeglin, what is it?" Asked Turgon, looking at the one whom he considered his son with a clear and piercing gaze.

"We do not know where the realms she speaks of are. Taking her to Russia would be a futile risk that would weaken our defense of Gondolin. Since the _firíma_ is searching for a safe haven, where there is no danger of life or limb, she may live among us, as long as she observes the laws of our realm, and this one most of all. Nobody may leave the Hidden City, once they have entered. Here she will be safe, which is what she wishes; we will be safe, since she cannot leave and by any means, through torture, free will, or a babbling tongue, reveal our City."

King Turgon nodded in approval.

"My lords? What do you say?" he asked

"Lord Maeglin's rede is full of wisdom," quickly answered Salgant, who fawned upon the young Elf-lord "Being among us, we can watch her, and at the same time, she is safe."

"I second Lord Salgant," said Egalmoth. "Although I will add a word of warning. She is strong-willed and has a hot temper."

"Indeed," Glorfindel muttered.

"And what of you, Lord Duilin?"

Duilin raised his falcon eyes to his King.

" Although I would rather that we leave her on the outer sides of the Echoriath, as Lord Glorfindel once thought, I will do the will of my King, but I do not yield my heart." He said

"Nobly spoken," murmured Idril across the table.

"Aye," said Glorfindel, nodding at Duilin. "I once thought we should do the same, but I have been given wise counsel. Perchance you think that we are housing our enemy, but we do not have many alternatives."

Duilin looked hard at Glorfindel.

"Do you think then that she is our enemy?" He asked

"Never was preparation for the worst unwise," was Glorfindel's neutral observation.

Lord Rog raised his eyebrows at the remark but said, "I am of the same mind as Lord Glorfindel. We cannot leave her, nor can we take her to Russia. If she remains within the city, there should be with an escort of guards at all times."

Galdor spoke next. "Wise words," he said in his soft voice. "Although let us bring a request for the Great Eagles to redouble their vigilance in the valley."

"And to redouble the guard upon the Hidden Way, so if the warrior returns, he will find he cannot enter." continued Lord Penlod.

The King turned his daughter. "Idril?"

"The _firíma_ should stay. Whether she speaks the truth or not, it is the best decision. She will be safe, as you say, and the City will run no danger of being discovered. However..." Idril sighed softly. "I am of the same mind as Lord Maeglin. Allowing her greater freedom will help both her and us."

"May I add something else, my lord?" Maeglin asked the king

"Speak."

"My cousin, Princess Idril Celebrindal, speaks with great wisdom. If the story the woman told was a falsehood, having her close and under our watch will allow us to know the truth. Time will confirm what the _firíma_ has said. For, the children of the Secondborn are mortal, are not they? In addition, perhaps we can learn more of both their ways and that wondrous healing of the body."

The Elf-lords and the Princess watched the King, awaiting his judgment. Most agreed that the girl stayed in Gondolin for the rest of her days; the only Lord wholly apposed was Duilin.

They had been moved by the sad tale, but compassion was one thing and trust was another. She would have to spend time in their midst, before they truly knew Hwa-Young was, and if she could be trusted.

Finally, the King spoke. "Lord Egalmoth, bring the _firíma_ to us once more."

* * *

In half an hour, the young woman was once again in the presence of the King and the Council.

"Hwa-Young," the King said, still weighing the beliefs of his faithful Lords and his daughter, as well as the appearance of the woman. Her eyes were red with tears, her face swollen with weeping. "Hwa-Young, the Council has addressed your story, as well as all the circumstances surrounding our City, which is kept hidden from a great Enemy. And we have which as you know that is hidden from a terrible Enemy. You shall stay in Gondolin."

Laura's green eyes opened wide with surprise.

"What!" she demanded angrily. "Why! You have no right to deprive me of _MY_ freedom. You have already done so all these months. Isn't that enough? And here I thought the _Quendi_ were civilized!"

"Calm yourself," the King answered. "This judgment suits us, and it is the good of the city."

"Oh yeah? Well, it doesn't suit me... _Your Majesty_." Laura answered, folding her arms across her chest, her head tilted insolently.

Duilin could bear no more.

"Keep a civil tongue in your mouth!" He ordered her

Laura turned to the falcon-eyed Lord.

"As far as my memory goes, Lord Duilin, I was talking to the King, and _not_ with you."

Lord Duilin clenched his teeth, but the King spoke before he could. "Then, you will do well to listen to me."

Laura sighed and reluctantly turned to Turgon.

"As you know full well, there is a great Enemy who we fear" continued the king "this City has been hidden from his eye for many years, for there are few who knows of its existence, for this reason, we have been able to leave in peace. Beyond the Encircling Mountains, danger lurks. You will find worse than _**Orcor**_ out there." He paused. "If you remain in the city, our secret is safe. As for you, you are safe, and you may begin a new life, which was your end-purpose, I believe."

"But it's not fair!" cried Laura, upset. "It's not fair! First of all, even though there have been some of you who've treated me badly, like Blondie, I don't resent them, so you can be certain I won't walk around shouting the location of your beautiful City. If you fear the 'Unnamed', do not you think that I'll be afraid of Him too and stay as far away as possible. And finally, what right do you have to force me to stay here! I don't want to stay here. If I do, I am going to be surrounded by _Quendi_ who look down their noses at Men, just like Blondie. Would _YOU_ like to live in a city where everyone patronizes you, the _firíma_!"

"Such a thing will not happen," said the Princess reassuringly.

Laura snorted.

"Maybe not with you, Princess" she said, "you at least don't seem me as only the _firíma_ ; but there are people like that here, such as Duilin and Blondie." She paused. "I want to be in a city with my own people, where I will not be mistreated. I promise I will never tell the secret of this city. What would I gain, assuming I had that stupid idea? Because despite what you believe... I am grateful, and I do not intend to endanger your city."

"We cannot be sure of this," replied the King gravely. "What do you have that can assure us of this?"

"What? You have my word!"

There was silence, and Laura raised her voice angrily.

"Ah! I see! The highly civilized _Quendi_ are not able to believe me, a _firíma_! If my word is not enough for you, then know that after having seen what I saw what they did to my mother..." Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened. "I would never allow that to happen to anyone else." She turned to Turgon. "Would you like this to happen to your daughter, Princess Idril? You have no idea what it's like! I don't want it too...I would never breathe a word!"

The King's face grew grim, and for an instant, Laura feared she had overplayed her trump card.

At last, he spoke.

"I do not doubt it, Hwa-Young. Your story tells me that you would not do it willingly. But the Enemy has unthinkable ways of obtaining knowledge; and it is for that same reason that you gave me: the safety of my daughter; you will stay here the rest of your days. You will be given a place to live and you will no longer be a prisoner ... at least until the time you have gained our confidence."

Laura's eyes were wide. It had been a long time since anyone had used her own argument against her so well.

"But…!" She tried to protest

"No!" said the King sternly. "Here you will stay here for the rest of your life. This is the law of the _Gondolindrim_ , once you enter, you shall not leave."

Laura cursed under her breath. Her plan had not worked ... at least not exactly as she had planned. But there were always other resources. There was no reason why she couldn't simply escape.

* * *

 **So, just exactly as the title says: It wasn't exactly what Laura expected. Now she surely will try to escape but before some things will happen. Let us see what happen.**

 **Waiting your reviews, guys!**


	10. First months in Gondolin

**So… hello again guys!**

 **Let's see what happens now that the Council had decided that Laura will live among them, even if she doesn't want to.**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys and thanks to Celridel!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10: First months in Gondolin**_

 _Ringarë_ came with snow. Under its cold embrace, the winter trees stood like a song half sung, unsure of the melody to come. Snow-dusted _mellyrn_ shook the golden leaves that would cling to them till spring, and the Encircling Mountains became pathless peaks of snow that glistered white in the noonday sun.

On _Isilya_ , the Day of the Moon, the Heart of Fire hid her radiant face in a thick veil of grey clouds, and a Northern gale came laden with snow.

Under these clouds, Laura was taken to a new abode, escorted by guards of the Fountain and the Tree, where she would live for the rest of her days. With the guards were their Lords, Ecthelion and Galdor, and Princess Idril.

The King had ruled that Hwa-Young would be placed in the Court of the King, in a house that was far from the palace, to ensure Idril's safety, and that was far from the gates, to discourage escape. The dwelling was a small house West of the Palace, near the Road of Pomps. The house itself was a large brick cottage with many windows and surrounded by a paling. Holly lifted its glossy leaves and bright red berries through the snow. Idril smiled, well-pleased at it. The coppice ensured the stranger solitude from curious eyes: this house had been her refuge occasionally, when the Palace was too crowded.

"This is your house," she announced cheerily. "In the summer it is covered with ivy and climbing flowers until you can scarce see the house for the blaze of colors." She opened the door, and held it open as Laura stepped inside: the woman's bearing latently hostile. "Come, come. I have been here before, let me show you it. This cottage is not overly-large, but you will find it spacious after you room in the Healing House. There is a green behind the cottage. Perhaps you did not tell us, but I remember you like to watch the clouds and the birds. You will see the Moon and stars clearly at night. You say your father taught you to recognize constellations, is that not so?"

Laura stared silently at Idril, an expression of sullen distaste on her sharply defined face.

Idril only smiled. "You will come to enjoy-"

Laura interrupted her kinds words curtly. "Leave me alone." As the Elves made no movement, she continued angrily, "Are you deaf? I want to be left alone."

Galdor's voice was low and threatening.

"You must have left your manners in North Korea, Hwa-Yong. This is the Princess of Gondolin. Speak to her as such."

She held his gaze, her voice insolent.

"So… _what_? I know perfectly well who I'm speaking to, and I don't care. You didn't care about my hopes or desires, why should I bother to be polite?"

A sweet voice prevented Galdor's reply.

"My Lord, it seems to me that Hwa-Young needs a moment of solitude to understand that the decision has been for the good of both her and us."

"I understand it all perfectly," Laura answered, her eyes sparkling with anger. "It is very clear to me that the great _Quendi_ have taken my dreams away and imprisoned me. You put your fears and personal interests forward without even a thought for the _firíma_!"

Ecthelion stepped forward to rebuke the woman, but Celebrindal answered with serene dignity. "May your afternoon be blessed, Hwa-Yong." she said, and left the house, followed by the Lords.

* * *

"I am grieved that you should have listened to the _firíma's_ unmannerliness," remarked Lord Galdor, as they walked towards the Palace. "If she had known you defended her, Princess-"

"It is likely that she knows, or at least she guesses my Lord," interrupted the Princess. "But we must understand that her life has wholly changed. She is distraught, understandably so."

"Notwithstanding, I agree with Lord Galdor," said Ecthelion, breaking his silence. "The _firíma-_ "

"Hwa-Yong," Idril corrected. "If she will live among us, we can call her by her name."

"Hwa-Yong must learn how to address you." finished Ecthelion in resignation.

"We must give her a chance to accept and accustom herself with this way of life, my Lords, and only through being patient will she do so."

Galdor sighed and muttered. "Thank the One for his wisdom when he made Men mortal."

The Celebrindal turned and looked at him, disapproval radiating from her blue eyes. "You should accustom yourself to her, Lord Galdor," she said coolly. "Have a blessed afternoon."

They bowed in farewell, and once Idril had departed, Ecthelion turned to his companion. "You should guard your words more carefully, my friend. It would be better to have a peaceful relationship for the few years she is among us."

"I do not know how you can say such a thing," Galdor answered, shaking his head wearily.

"Do not think it will be easy," said Lord Ecthelion. "It is chiefly I and my house that guards this part of the City." he paused" I only hope that there will be no difficulties when it's is Glorfindel's time to watch her."

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

 _'And here I am, in a new prison, a bigger and prettier one, but it's still a prison. These stupid Elves believe that being the Quendi gives them to do and undo according to their whim!_

 _My alibi was excellent, and I touched all of them, even Blondie. Duilin kept thinking and still thinks I am a dangerous person. He's fairly intelligent. It's a shame he mixes with such a stupid crowd._

 _Even Idril was useless. I had a good impression of her, but no, it turns out she prefers her well-being to mine. After being kind and deferential to me for months, suddenly she joins the group of Elves who think I should stay._

 _I shouldn't have been surprised; I knew Idril's kindness always had a double intention. She never considered me worthwhile, or a friend-if friends even exist. I'm beginning to wonder. Except for Remy they don't. All she wanted was answers, and she got them. They were false, but there were still answers._

 _And now I am imprisoned in the middle of a city of conceited Quendi. Bah! Not even Hitler with his crazy ideas about Aryan superiority could be compared to these guys!_

 _Whoever is the 'Unnamed' is, they are truly terrified of it. Ha! I wish I could lead him straight to where they are hiding. It would be worth all this to see their terrified faces, as they plead for their lives, or for death, depending on how good this Unnamed guy is. Death is a relatively foreign concept to them, considering they are immortal._

 _Now there is a small, but important detail: they have said that I will stay to live in Gondolin the rest of my days. They believe that I will live till eighty or possibly ninety, but not more. In this, they are mistaken, again. I may look in my mid-twenties, but I am actually fifty. So, I must have an alibi ready there. Maybe that lie that Korean women have the ability to heal their bodies may work ... but I'm not sure._

 _Certainly, I have to have an explanation of some kind. If there is something that I have learned during all these years as an assassin and a mercenary, as an X-Man: is that I must have several backup plans._

 _At the moment, plan A is to escape from this damn city before they even notice my immortality. As I have been informed, I can walk some parts of the City, but never further than the Way of Running Waters and the Fountains of the South, and nowhere close to the Gate._

 _I'm not interested in what happens to this city in the least. If their infamous 'Unnamed' arrives and discovers them ... bad luck to them. Did they think about what I wanted? No! There's no reason I should care what happens to them._

 _No, now it's time to put everything I know into play. It won't be easy. Turgon is an intelligent bastard, and he's kept me away from any places that could of use during an escape._

 _To make it worse, Ecthelion's soldiers are always on guard around the Court. Ecthelion is a kind person, but loyal to his king; there's no way he would help me. I'm going to have to do this alone._

 _But ... when did the fact of being alone when trying to achieve difficult goals stop me? Very soon, these Quendi will realize that X-23, one of the best assassins in the world, can give them several problems, evade their security and get out the hell of here._

 _Anyway, there is plenty of time ... and Time and Patience are excellent factors to achieving a difficult objective._

 _Prepare, O Quendi! This firíma will show you who she really is and what she can really do. I just hope to meet Blondie for a moment on the way out. I'd rather not leave without saying goodbye to him.'_

* * *

 **Laura's POV** - _March, First Age, Year 461._

' _As of today, it has been exactly three months since I came to this house._

 _There have been some interesting and amusing events during this period. The first is that every day, one of the Houses of Gondolin is responsible for watching me and I have ten guards following me around wherever I go. Every day, the Chieftain of the respective House enters my house and ensures that there is nothing that is suspicious going on._

 _Hahaha! But there has been nothing more interesting than what was there when Blondie came here for the first time._

* * *

 **Flashback**

Glorfindel stepped out on the threshold of Hwa-Yong's house, drawing in a deep breath of the cool air. He had completed his duty of examining the house, and now only desired to be rid of this place. It was he and Duilin were the ones who most loathed this task, but the King was adamant on the matter.

Lord Duilin had no great difficulty. From time to time the woman sought to exasperate him, which was not difficult. However, although there were times when both bantered words, something she certainly enjoyed; Lord Duilin was ordinarily able to maintain his composure and Laura refrained from making overly biting comments, as she did not resent the hot-tempered Lord of the Swallow.

But Glorfindel suffered far worse. Laura detested the Lord of the Golden Flower House for the way he had treated her and the remark he had made during the Council. Perhaps the Elf believed she had not heard, but her mutation allowed her hearing to be as keen as any of the Elves.

The winter wind pulled his golden hair from its long braid. He brushed it from his face and stepped out into the garden, where Laura was sitting on a long bench. Her eyes were closed; she seemed to be enjoying the pale winter Sun, but on her thin lips was a small smile that boded no good for Glorfindel.

The Chieftain realized this, and turned away towards the holly-surrounded gate, but before he reached it, a vague impulse made him follow the words of his friend. He turned around and blurted "May your day be blessed, Hwa-Yong."

There was a moment of silence after the words.

"Hey, _Blondie_!"

Glorfindel drew a deep breath and continued to the gate. Behind him, the woman stood up from the bench, he could hear the crunch of her feet in the snow.

"Hey, _Blondie_! I'm talking to you!"

Glorfindel clenched his hands into fists but continued towards the gate. Behind him, Laura noticed the action and continued.

" _Blondie_! Sweetie, don't you want to talk with me?" Laura continued with an accent of feigned sadness. "What did I do to offend you, _Blondie_? Could it be the little pet-name I gave you is correct?" She frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm, I think it might be-"

Glorfindel swung round to face her, his voice hard with a sudden anger. "Enough, _firíma_!"

Laura looked grieved.

"What have I done, _Blondie_? I just wanted to talk and ask you a favor."

Glorfindel turned away.

"Where are your manners, _Blondie_! Not even Lord Duilin is so pitifully childish!"

With a speed that surprised even Laura, Glorfindel leapt in front of her, his hand on his sword.

"Understand this, _firíma_! Do not call me _Blondie_ again!" he said with low and threating voice

Laura said in a wheedling voice. "But _Blondie_ , I just wanted to ask you a favor -"

A guard of the Golden Flower interrupted her words. "My Lord, is all well?"

Laura interposed before Glorfindel could answer,

"He got angry because I wanted to ask a favor. I wanted to ask him if he would kindly bring me some magazines. I get bored here."

Glorfindel looked at the woman, eyebrows knit together in a frown.

"C'mon!" Laura said impatiently. "You know, magazines? Right now, even a gossip or fashion magazine would be fine. I suppose there must be a fashion magazine among the Elves, considering your clothes, "she added, studying Glorfindel's clothes and armor. "I have to give it to you, _Blondie_ , the fashion you wear is quite striking. What is it ... spring-summer? "

The guard smothered his laughter, respect restraining his mirth.

Laura noticed. "See, even your soldier thinks I'm right, _Blondie_!"

It was Ecthelion who interrupted Glorfindel's angry reply.

"Enough, Hwa-Yong," he said, fixing his gray eyes on her green ones. "We know not what a 'magazine' is, but I shall see it to you that you have books in plenty."

Laura groaned and returned to the bench.

"No magazines. Elves are impossible to underestimate."

Ecthelion gripped Glorfindel's shoulder firmly and forced him from the house.

It would be only by some wonder of the Shining Ones that Glorfindel would understand what he should do, and the two would be able to endure each other.

* * *

 **Laura's POV**

' _Winter here is not particularly cold at least not like in places I've been. These Elves have no problem with global warming and those things._

 _It snows regularly, but blizzards are uncommon. This place seems quite a strange to a global warming, which makes me wonder where I actually am._

 _I'm beginning to think that I am not on Earth, but in another unknown dimension or galaxy because as far as I know, global warming has been felt in one way or another all over Earth._

 _Three months have passed, in which I've made some progress. They gave me back my kevlar suit, so I could mend the part where that_ _ **Orco**_ _bastard tried to shoot me. I've also found a way to make a long rope with a sort of hook, so I scale heights as fast as possible. By means of some components in the soil, I have dye that will stain my skin, so I can avoid being seen in the dark._

 _I got a whip through the weaves. They sent me colorful clothes, the typical colors used by the females; but I prefer dark colors, black especially, so I used the clothes they sent me to make my whip, with which I can quickly and quietly strangle an unsuspecting Elf._

 _The Princes, when she came to see me, asked why I was destroying my clothes, but she had the good sense to accept my taste for navy blue and black. The Elves don't care for dark colors: the only one who dresses like that is Maeglin, Lord of the Mole. And speaking of the devil of the devil… here comes the Lord of the Mole himself._

* * *

The weather was mild that afternoon, for the worst of winter was over. Laura had been gifted with warm clothes, garments that millionaires would envy for their beauty. To the weavers' chagrin, Idril had commanded them to dye the cloths dark, so as to suit Laura's liking.

Laura was lying on a bench, under a leafless oak, her arms behind her head, her eyes closed as her mind flitted through different routes of escape. It meant nothing if a few of the Elves should be killed in the processes, that was only collateral damage.

Her keen sense of smell had told her a few minutes before that someone was approaching.

It was not a guard, for she smelled nothing metallic, nor was it Lord Penlod. Laura opened one eye and saw through the lashes that it was Lord Maeglin.

The King's sister-son was accompanied by a Guard of the Pillar, although Laura knew that Maeglin was capable of holding his own with both words and swords.

"Hwa-Yong," he said, his voice soft.

Laura opened her eyes and sat up, her face clearly showing her annoyance at the unexpected visit.

"Lord Maeglin." She answered

It was well-known among the Lords that Hwa-Yong had a waspish temper and was fractious towards all, but she was indifferent towards Maeglin, and so made no attempt to dismiss or jape at him.

"Would you allow me to pass?" Maeglin asked, standing at the gate of the garden, formed by two gallant beeches.

Laura arched a black brow and shrugged. None of the other Elves had shown her such gentility.

"I suppose."

He entered, walking on the snow as if he was weightless while the guard of the Pillar remained at the gate.

"Would you allow me to sit down, Hwa-Yong?" Maeglin asked, looking down at her seriously.

Laura shrugged again, and moved to one side of the bench, keeping a distance between them.

"Well, Lord Maeglin, what made you come to visit the _firíma_?" she asked, accenting the last word.

" _Firíma_?" he repeated. "It seemed to me that your name was Hwa-Yong unless I misunderstood."

Laura frowned. _'Maybe he does want to be nice, but kindness usually has ulterior motives, and ends in bad things and betrayal. A person you can trust is rare. And Elves are certainly not one of them_.' she thought. Out loud, she answered: "Certainly, Lord Maeglin, my name is Hwa Yong. However, you still have not answered my question."

Maeglin only smiled at her temerity.

"I desired to speak with you," he replied, his black eyes locking with hers. Laura held the gaze, looking for the real reason, but all she found confirmation of the Elf-Lord's words.

"And what do you want to talk about? My past? North Korea?" Laura asked, showing discomfort.

"No," he answered, "Although it would fascinate me to know more about your homeland, it would bring you memories that are painful, and that is not my intention. As for your past, you told it to me in the Council. It seems to me that there is no need to make you relive those memories."

Laura stared at him, honestly surprised. The Lord's mien showed sympathy, not moved by altruistic motives, but by an understanding compassion. She thought they shared a related past.

"So, if it's not it, what do you want to talk to me about?" she demanded, always on guard.

Maeglin was silent for a moment, his gaze far-away. When he answered, his voice was soft.

"You said that we all have the right to show who we are. Do you truly believe so?"

Laura paused: the question was unexpected. Yes, she believed that was an entitlement, although for some people, like her, that was no longer in question.

"Yes," she answered simply, covering her surprise. "Why do you ask me that?"

"Because it seems to me that, you are very wise for your youth," Maeglin replied with a faint smile. "Do you know that I also wielded that argument at the first Council concerning you?"

"It seems that the _Quendi_ and the _firíma_ have something in common," answered Laura cuttingly.

Maeglin made no answer to her mordant tone. This treatment was not uncommon for him, it caused him no discomfiture. Laura frowned suddenly.

"Wait a moment. You said I was young. I have to tell you I am not."

"By Elven standards, you are very young." he corrected. "I myself am young, youngest of all the Council."

"Mm-hm. And just what is your age?"

"I am now one hundred and forty years," he replied quietly

Laura's eyes widened. "You're kidding me!"

"Forgive me, I do not understand what you said."

"That's not possible! One hundred and forty years!" she exclaimed.

Maeglin smiled slightly. "It is not impossible, and I shall live longer, I hope."

There was a silence. Laura finally said

"So, you came to ... congratulate me on my maturity, considering my 'tender age'."

"It is uncommon to find such wisdom in someone so young. I thought that you should know..." He stopped and stood up, about to leave when the woman's accented voice arrested him.

"Now it's my turn to ask."

The Elf-lord turned and waited for the question.

"You said you did not want me to remember the events of my terrible story again, nor did you want me to talk about North Korea so that I would not suffer the remembering good and bad memories." Laura paused. "I could swear that you have a story very similar to mine. And if we consider that you have told me that I am wise for my tender age, I would bet that I am right."

Maeglin looked at her, his eyes enigmatic, and said blandly. "It is possible."

She watched at him, clearly asking.

The Elf did not know what caused him to sit again under the snow-laden oak and tell his story to the foreigner. For two hours, as the sun set and curious stars peeked out, he told the woman of his mother Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, the _White Lady of the Noldor_ , the sister of Turgon. He told how she had ridden fearless through the sunless forest of Nan Elmoth, and how she had been ensnared in the magic of Eöl, the Dark Elf. He told of their flight to Gondolin, until the moment Eöl pronounced his terrible curse, and threw the poisoned javelin at Aredhel.

Laura listened with great attention. Certainly, the Elves also had their tragedies, and this one seemed a one on par with Gothic Romanticism or a Shakespearean one. For a moment she felt sympathy for the Elf-lord, but her distrust made it disappear almost instantaneously. However, that feeling of uneasiness she had felt in his company disappeared and she also now understood why the Elf-lord had argued that the birthright of the Free Peoples was the chance to prove themselves.

Any other would have said _'I'm sorry'_ , but that was foreign to Laura; she would have only said if she was talking to her victim. That was not the case, so all she said was,

"It seems that what happens in my country also occurs among Elves."

"So, it seems," Maeglin answered. "This is why I live upon the Wall, and not with the other Elf-Lords. It is child's play to guess what is said of me."

"At least the king takes you into consideration." replied Laura. "It seems to me he holds you in very high esteem. After all, you sit at his right hand."

"I have had that luck. And maybe you would find his esteem as well, were you a little kinder."

Laura laughed bitterly.

"I? The _firíma_? Be accepted? It would be easier for me to die than to make that happened." She ended in a mutter.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Maeglin, studying her face.

Laura turned away with a shrug.

"I remembered a book, it was about something similar. A young woman who had been ... taught to kill and torture since she was a very small child. For many years she did what she was ordered without once failing. But one day, she began to wonder if what she was doing was right. Finally, she decided that the murders and tortures she had done for over ten years were bad, even though it was the only thing she knew. Despite that, she decided to change and do things right, to use her skills to protect people. But ... society never accepted her, even though she showed them she had changed and left that life behind. So, being so well trained since childhood to kill, it was easier to be killed than to be accepted by society one day."

"She was never accepted?"

"I don't know, the author doesn't say. He just says that that young woman still has the opportunity to change because after all, she has all the eternity to do it," answered Laura with a forced smile, as if she was no longer interested. "In any case, the woman has no hope."

"I think that is false. She dedicated to change, and that gives her the right to show her true character. And she is one brave enough to face what she has done for years, and instead do good." replied Maeglin emphatically.

Laura looked at him for a moment.

"Maybe," she muttered "Then the same advice can be applied to you, Lord Maeglin. You have not killed, nor tortured. Your advice is always wise, and the king respects you. Also, you _do_ have eternity. I guess it's just a matter of patience and time." She paused and scrutinized the clothes of the Elf-Lord. "Perhaps a little change of fashion wouldn't be so bad," she added with a smile.

Maeglin laughed. "A change would not be so ill for you as well, chiefly with Lord Glorfindel." He said

"Oh! That's _Blondie's_ fault!" Laura answered. "He wouldn't bring me magazines. Even _'Vanity Fair'_ would be fine!"

"Magazines?"

"Yes! Magazines! How complicated can that be! But no! _Blondie_ always has to annoy me as much as possible!"

"Maybe if you ceased calling him _Blondie_ ', things would change," Lord Maeglin advised.

"Maybe if he stopped being narcissistic, and considering me as _the_ _'firíma'_ , things would change." she snapped.

"Maybe what is wisest is that you both allow yourselves to show your true selves."

Laura snorted. Maeglin stood up, and smiled, nodding his raven head in farewell. "Have a blessed day, Hwa-Yong."

"Same to you, Lord Maeglin."

* * *

The wind pulled Maeglin's black hair around his face as he turned his face towards his home.

Certainly, the woman was stubborn. He hoped that Glorfindel was not as willful, for the circumstances between them was worsening. He also hoped that she was right, and one day the _Gondolindrim_ would understand that although he had the blood of the Dark Elf in his veins, he was not like his father. No, he was different, and he prayed that as his sister-brother knew, so would the people of Hidden City. But above all, he prayed that his beloved, the one fairer than all the wonders of Gondolin: his cousin, Idril Celebrindal would understand that.

* * *

 **Well, seems that Laura gets along much better with the other Elf-lords (even Lord Duilin or the strange and taciturn Lord Maeglin), than with Gondolin's darling.**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**


	11. Changes

**Hi again world!**

 **Here's the next chapter. I want to thanks firstly to Celridel for her immense help as well as to thanks to the readers, especially the once that had left a review. Thanks for your reviews animal56. They're very helpful in all terms.**

 **And now... let's see what happens.**

 **Oh! By the way, here I must warn that will be a scene of self-harming... just in case.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 12: Changes**_

The glade of young beech stood in the sunlight of the Stirring, the buds swollen tight on every branch promising beauty forthwith. Hiding their roots, golden ranks of daffodils massed together, the golden trumpet of spring.

"How is this even thinkable! How!"

Turgon's voice cut like a knife through the silence of the gardens, sharp as steel but hot with rage.

Upon the terrace above the beech copse stood Glorfindel, Chieftain of the Golden Flower, his back straight, but his head lowered, his mien that of a scolded child, in stark contradiction to his wonted proud bearing. His golden hair was disheveled, a sure sign he had fought, and his eyes sparkled with fury, although repressed shame lurked in their depths. His sword-hand clutched the hilt of _Culumaica_. He would never attack his King, even if his life was at stake, but the touch of the hilt calmed him.

In front of him paced the High-King, his gray eyes the hue of a raging sea. Glorfindel had never seen him so angered.

"How is it even thinkable that an Elf-Lord would do such a thing? By Ulmo! I never believed a Lord of the Council would do such an unseemly thing!"

He stopped in front of Glorfindel, who had his eyes fixed on the marble floor of the terrace.

"How can I trust your judgment, Lord Glorfindel? Tell me! How can I trust your decisions when you act like a feckless child?!"

Glorfindel clenched his teeth, but the King's rebuke was a well-aimed shaft. He had not acted wisely; this punishment was earned.

The relationship between Hwa-Yong and him had only grown worse. Not content with insulting him, she had urged him to banter words with her, until there had been times his own soldiers looked at him in surprise, for Hwa-Young knew very well how to make him look a fool. Many times, Ecthelion had forced him away from the house, for Glorfindel wanted nothing more than to get the whip-hand over her.

There was nothing dignified about the act, but Glorfindel no longer cared. He detested the woman and regretted constantly regretted that he had not declared in favor of taking her beyond the _Echoriath_. His life would be far less bitter.

"Since it seems that you do not know how to fulfill your duties with the dignity of an Elven Lord, and one of your lineage, I will relieve you of such responsibilities," said Turgon after a long silence. "You and your house will go to the Gates, and guard them without rest. And thank Lord Ecthelion, Glorfindel, that your lordship is not taken from you. I was tempted, but Lord Ecthelion vindicated you from the disgrace, and I believe likewise that it is because of your youth you did it."

There was another silence, but before Turgon dismissed Glorfindel, the half-Vanya said in a halting voice, trying to check his fury. "Then, you know what happened."

"Lord Ecthelion told me all," answered Turgon, his voice calmer but no less cold. "I am aware that Hwa-Young has been troubling you these months, but that does not justify your deeds. You grappled with Lord Ecthelion and drew your sword against a defenseless mortal. Peradventure the women of North Korea may recover from any wound, but if you had injured Ecthelion, what then? Now go, and comply, and remember that such a thing will not happen again."

Glorfindel bowed and went from the palace. Curse the woman! She would stay here for the rest of her days now, and he would have to suffer in silence for over a century.

Turgon stood looking over the garden after Glorfindel left. The air was cold and sharp. A sparrow chipped its song. Snow still covered most of Gondolin, but the sparrow heralded the awakening from winter's lethargy and the sudden glory that _Tàri-Lais_ i and _Kementarì_ would bestow upon Beleriand. The still air and the gentle Sun calmed his spirit for the moment.

A guard of the Fountains broke into his thoughts. "My Lord, shall I bring the prisoner?"

"Bring her to the audience-chamber," he answered, a frown creasing his brows for a short moment. He was unused to dealing with mortals, and although Hwa-Young had none of the _Quendi's_ abilities in her favor, her tongue as sharp as a two-edged sword. He entered the palace and waited in the audience-chamber.

* * *

In a short time, he heard footsteps. Veryandil entered the room, Lord Ecthelion's second-in-command, and in command of the House while Ecthelion healed.

Two guards entered the room behind him, Laura between them.

Turgon considered the woman for a long minute, his wisdom advising him to know in what disposition she was in before he addressed the matter.

"Do you know what happened because of you?"

"Yes," she replied, her green eyes enigmatic.

"And you care nothing for it?"

She shrugged. "It's not my fault. _Blondie_ does not know how to control his anger-"

"Lord Glorfindel!" The King interrupted furiously. "That is his name and by such he shall be called. You know well that the epithet provokes him."

"And you know perfectly well why I gave it to him, Your Majesty!" Laura exclaimed. "Who was the one who started it, huh? Who?"

Her tone was one of veiled insolence. Turgon's voice was low, and there was a dangerous gleam in his silvery eyes.

"Certainly, Glorfindel was to blame. But he behaved like that because he fears for our City and our people. You do not know what lies beyond the _Echoriath_! There reign Death and Darkness!"

"That's not my problem."

"No," Turgon answered, his voice heavy with biting sarcasm. "No, it is not. All that concerns you is your wellbeing. As such, you should understand that it was Lord Glorfindel who argued for you to be given a house where you might live worthily, instead of being placed in a dungeon. This is how you repay your benefactor?"

Laura's face showed surprise. She opened her mouth, but Turgon continued.

"I see you do not know, even when part of the reason for your hostility was that he advocated against you. Nothing is further from the truth. It is curious, Hwa-Young, that you should treat those who spoke against you with indifference, but the one who chose to aid you, you are a thorn in his boot."

"That doesn't extenuate him from the fact he has always treated me as an inferior, with disdain!" said Laura indignantly.

"Disdain, Hwa-Young? You disdain those who do not give you what you wish, those who do not adore you. But if they protect and provide for you, and praise you, those are kind people. It does not surprise me then, that you treat the Lords unkindly, even those who have tried to earn your goodwill, like Ecthelion. He is now in the Healing House because of that, and if he was not a seasoned warrior, he would be severely injured."

Laura narrowed her eyes. She remembered the circumstances with perfect clarity. When Ecthelion had tried to prevent them, he had received a blow, that, if it were not for the instinctive jump he had taken backward, would have pierced his ribs. That had forced him to finally tell the King of the situation between her and Glorfindel, after which he had gone to Healers.

"It's his fault," she answered. "No one asked him to get involved. He just wanted to play the hero."

The king looked at Laura and smiled coldly.

"Play the hero, Hwa-Young? You know little enough about heroes. Your family were heroes because they were generous, but how will interest you, Hwa Young, if the only one you care about is you. Hero? How dare you use that word if you do not even know its meaning. You will never know."

Laura had blanched, although her features were still inscrutable. She swallowed several times.

"I do not enjoy mentioning your family," Turgon continued, believing her family was the reason she had turned pale. "No, your family is not the cause. You are the cause, Hwa Young. You have been given everything, but even if you had the _Silmarilli_ , you would not be satisfied. You are selfish, and no matter how many skills you have-all the children of Men have skills-you will always remain selfish and insolent. For all the years of your life, you will be miserable, and you will never know true friends, those who will aid you when you need it because you do not deserve it, Hwa Young. You do not deserve it and you will not deserve it."

Her fists clenched fiercely, restraining her claws. Although her eyes held his, and her breathing was slow, the sudden rush of pain had torn her. Turgon could not read what she felt, but he was sure that his harsh words had been enough to silence the woman.

"You will not leave your house." he continued, after a long silence. "Not until you have learned to silence your forked tongue and mend your churlish ways. When you possess some measure of courtesy, then shall your freedoms be granted to you. Take her away, Veryandil."

* * *

Once he was left alone, Turgon went into the gardens, and laved his head in the chilly water of a fountain, then rested his forehead on the marble rim, rimed with verglas. It had been a long time since he had been so angered.

* * *

The guards left Laura at the cottage in silence. No one would address her until the King ordered otherwise.

When they were gone, she entered her boudoir and watched the guards leave, then drew out her adamantium claws.

She looked at them for a moment, seeing how their razor-sharp edges glinted in the afternoon light and then began to lacerate her chest and arms deeply, for over an hour. Clean deep cuts to take away her pain, as if causing physical hurt would diminish the agony in her heart and mind.

Finally, she dropped into a corner and retracted her claws, hugging her knees to her chest. Her gaze was fixed on the cornice in the ceiling, her face impassive even as she inwardly writhed with anger and pain.

The words of Turgon had hurt her more than any torture that had ever tested her at the Facility. Although Laura had learned to remain mute at times like this, this was the worst pain she had ever known.

For a brief second, she had intended to leap on the King and kill or harm him. But Turgon had _Glamdring_ in his belt, and there were guards near. Thanks to her intense training, she kept her head until she was alone, and then inflicted as much pain as she could on herself...because she deserved it.

The King, the X-Men, and the Facility were all right: she could never do any good, she would never do anything other than what she had been trained for, she would always be selfish and cruel and ruthless.

 _'You have been trained for this, X-23. To kill, destroy, to do the dirty job that others do not dare to do out of fear. But you, you do not even blink at this ... you are and always will be the killing-machine that you were designed to be from before you were born.'_ The words of the Director of the Facility rang in her ears, the images of the family he had forced her to kill flashed in whirling pictures before her eyes.

 _'I do not know how the Professor has so much confidence in her.'_ Scott's voice resounded, too loud to be a memory, too far-away to be a reality. _'She was created to kill from birth. She has never known or will know what it is to be generous, what it is to use the skills we have thanks to the X Gene, to save lives. She snatches them, does not save them. She always has and always will. That is her nature.'_

She had wanted to torture the X-Man bastard when she overheard him saying that about her, kill him little by little, but that would have meant agreeing with him, what he said about her. For several years, she had been trying with all her will to change. But every time she tried, everything went wrong, terribly wrong.

Her narrow lips trembled, wanting to voice the despair she felt. But, it would be of no use. She would never be good, no matter how much she screamed and railed at Fate. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be a real woman, she would never be like Pinocchio. Even that wooden puppet was luckier than her. He had managed to become a real flesh and blood boy. She, X-23 ... would never be, even if there were fairy godmothers.

* * *

 _Six Months Later_

The green grass was tall in the great Vale of Tumladen, for it was _Lairë_ , the month of _Úrimë_. The fruit trees were heavy laden, and their sweet, sun-rich fragrance was borne back from Gondolin by a west wind.

"And how does Glorfindel fare?" asked Galdor while dismounting from his bay stallion and patting his neck. The horse snorted and sniffed the hair of his master.

"In a far better mood," Ecthelion replied. Larcatál, his gray mare, grazed near them. "Tomorrow his punishment ends, but Glorfindel is of a cheerful nature, and his anger, although great, did not last as long as his punishment."

Duilin caught a white feather one of the _Mánir_ had stolen from his braids.

"In that, he shows a clear head for his youth." he intervened, returning the feather to his tawny hair. "Unlike Hwa Young."

Galdor smiled at Duilin, for the Swallow was not much born much earlier than Glorfindel himself.

They had ridden out about a mile from Gondolin, across the grasses which waved above many pools and silver streams. The mystery of the _**Orcor**_ was answered to their satisfaction and Thorondor and his Great Eagles had redoubled their vigilance. Once again, the Elven-lords of the Eleven Houses could rest easy.

"What about Hwa-Young?" Asked Ecthelion, with a faint frown. "Has she done anything against you?"

"No," Duilin replied, holding out his hand as the grass billowed and rolled. "In truth, she seems another."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Galdor said.

"Yes. She has scarcely spoken a word in all these months. If we do not talk to her, she does not speak to us. And if we wish her a good day, she only echoes our words or answers with a nod."

Ecthelion impatiently pulled strands of black hair from his face. "Duilin, advise your friends among the _Mánir_ to quit their play."

Duilin looked towards the Lord of the Fountains, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "They do not heed me, my friend. See if you can daunt them with the promise of your wrath."

Ecthelion sighed and halted to braid his hair again.

"I wonder what King Turgon tell her. To silence Hwa-Young seemed an almost impossible feat." wondered Duilin as they waited. "With the exception of Maeglin. They never bickered-"

Galdor and Ecthelion looked at him, and Duilin hastened to explain. "The two were-if not friendly- on a peaceful footing,"

Ecthelion frowned in thought. Maeglin was scathing, mordant and distant. He preferred the company of his forge, rather than those of his fellow Lords. It seemed strange that the _firíma_ would be well-disposed towards him.

"Mayhap it is because of the likeness between her life and his," suggested Galdor.

Duilin snorted. "And in matters of attire."

"Whatever the reasons, it is good tidings that he has begun to befriend the woman," Ecthelion intervened, folding his arms. _'At least he speaks to someone other than the Princess_ ,' he thought. He did not relish how Maeglin dogged the Flower of Gondolin.

"Maybe," Galdor agreed. "When shall the King allow her to leave her house?"

"Perhaps when Glorfindel and she can have a pleasant talk," replied Ecthelion.

Duilin raised his eyebrows.

"Then she shall never leave her house again." He said

Galdor answered thoughtfully.

"Who knows? My guards have told me that Lord Maeglin advised Hwa-Young to be kinder, although perhaps he does not follow his own wise advice."

"He is not the friendliest in all Gondolin," Duilin agreed.

"But he certainly would not be so taciturn if he were not treated so coolly," replied Galdor, glancing meaningfully at Duilin.

Duilin looked at towards the sky with deprecation. It was true, he was not the kindest with the king's sister-son, but rare indeed was the Elf who truly tried to befriend Maeglin, and even rarer was an inhabitant of Gondolin who saw him without scorn or suspicion. "The only one he accepts is Princess Idril," he said defensively.

"She is his kinswoman," said Galdor. "Of course, he accepts her."

Duilin looked at him with disbelief.

"Are you so callow? Surely you see that it is not because Idril is his _ettaressë_ that he searches for her. There have been times when the Princess fled to me, so he would leave her in peace!"

Galdor frowned. Yes, there were certainly times when the Celebrindal spurned or strove to escape her _ettaréro_.

"What do you think, Ecthelion?" he asked the older and wise Lord, who had remained silent.

"What I think, my friends, that is something that we do not have the leisure to speak of, since I must return to my post. At the moment, the circumstances between Hwa-Young and Glorfindel are more worrisome to me." He answered

* * *

A night breeze danced through the whispering leaves. Pale flowers blossomed like moons at midnight, twining around Hwa-young's cottage. Lilac's sweet, mauve scent was fine, heady wine, and the song of the nightingales echoed in the silence, breathing sweetness.

High above those flowers, the true Moon shone full and splendid, for _Úrimë_ was ending and the time of _Yávië_ beginning. Thousands of stars shone: the Sickle of the Gods gleamed in the North. The path to the cottage was surrounded by bushes that flowered white and gold, and under this blossoming archway, two Elf-Lords stood,

"Glorfindel, keep your calm," Ecthelion admonished in a whisper. "She was punished as well. This is not disgraceful, it is truce-making."

His young friend nodded. Ecthelion approached the door, and knocked thrice, firmly on the wooden door. After a moment, he called her name softly.

There was a long quiet, in which they believed she was sleeping. Then they saw her shadow leaning over the roof, over a mass of flowering vines. She watched them, waiting.

"Hwa-Young, pardon our intrusion. We must speak to you, will you come down?" said politely Lord Ecthelion

The woman stared at him and then disappeared, appearing a minute later at the door. Seeing who accompanied the Noldo, her green eyes turned hostile, but she remained silent.

Glorfindel stepped forward, his voice stiff and awkward.

"I came to make peace with you, Hwa-Young. Under this agreement, I will never call you _firíma_ , and I ask that you will never call me _Blondie_. I hope we can maintain a courteous relationship, if both of us follow the terms."

Laura did not answer, her eyes seeming to weigh the situation, her face blank. Finally, she nodded. "Good evening," she said and closed the door.

The two Elves looked at each other in surprise and passed again under the flower archway.

* * *

"I thought it would be more ... difficult," said Glorfindel.

"She has changed."

"Changed? She is wholly another! "

"Would you prefer the prior Hwa-Young?" Ecthelion asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I would rather face a company of _**Orcor**_ unarmed!"

Ecthelion chuckled.

"Very well. I suppose you will have no impediment in resuming your duties here."

Glorfindel snorted.

"No, as long as she-" He broke off suddenly, a slight frown creasing his brow.

Ecthelion looked at his friend in surprise. "Glorfindel?"

The half-Vanya shook his head, relaxing his shoulders. "No, it was nothing."

Ecthelion listened attentively. Only the soft whisper of the wind was heard.

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing," the younger Elf answered stubbornly. "It was only the wind in the branches, or perhaps an owl."

"Mayhap we should return…"

"No. There are guards there."

Ecthelion looked at him with a frown but said nothing more. They parted ways on the Road of Arches, but no sooner did his friend disappear, Glorfindel dashed back to the cottage.

He motioned for the guards to remain silent and approached the oak.

The leaves rustled as he climbed cautiously through its boughs, and when he was level with the roof, he raised his head.

The moonlight shone on the young woman's face, and he saw it clearly. She was singing softly, singing the same song she had sung in the Healing Houses, but this time her arms were in a position as if she was playing a foreign instrument he could not see.

The first time he saw her sing, her face had shown endless loneliness, but also girlish enjoyment, but now her face was blank. But Glorfindel knew there was something behind the mask. The emotionless expression she showed before was different from the one she wore now. It was an expression that blazoned itself on his heart. The words of the song he now heard left as if written in fire upon his mind.

* * *

 **So... for the first time had passed the unthinkable: an Elf-lord scolded and punished (and not any Elf-lord). And now there's something that can really hurt Laura.**

 **Waiting your reviews, guys!**


	12. The beggining of something new

**Hi people!**

 **Before starting, I want to thank especially to Celridel and animal56. The first one because her immense help and the second one because the reviews which are a great support.**

 **Indeed, animal56, the words of Turgon weren't nice at all. However, we'll find out that the... 'light' that Laura needs maybe come from the most unexpected person in the most unexpected way.**

 **By the way, in time it'll be known what song is the one that Laura so much loves.**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 12: The Beginning of Something New**_

 _Two Months Later_ _(Menelya, Day of the Heavens. Narquelië (October), the Fading, First Age 461)_

The pale light of an autumn sunset came through the oriel window, seeking out the dust motes and finally falling on Glorfindel, who sat near the window. His eyes were closed, his hands on his harp.

A note rang discordantly in the silent room, and Glorfindel stood up in frustration.

It was wrong, once more, or misplaced. He seated himself reluctantly, and closed his eyes again, repeating the melody in his mind. The song he had heard Hwa-Young sing had remained engraved in his mind for two months. He did not have the faintest inkling of what the words said, nor was the music or the singer's voice very beautiful to him, but howbeit, her expression had compelled him to practice this song. Every night, when his duties were done, he spent many hours laboring over the tune. He only knew that somehow, he was bounden to play the song she had sung upon his harp, and this way, bring her some measure of joy and illumination.

All the Lords agreed with Duilin of the Swallow, the _firíma_ had become another in all respects. Rog, Duilin and even Penlod, were convinced that this was only a childish outburst, in an effort to affect or anger her captors. Glorfindel was unsure of the opinions of Egalmoth, Salgant, but the change in her demeanor had attracted much attention.

Even stranger to him was that Ecthelion and Idril agreed with Maeglin, for once, that this was not sullenness. He had spoken his own opinion in the Council.

* * *

 _***Two Weeks Prior***_

"I have spoken with her," Princess Idril said. "It is not a childish fit of sulks, she is not striving to draw our attention to her. Something pains her."

"Her past?" Turgon asked, guilt flitting through his grey eyes, as he remembered how he spoke of her kin to her.

Idril said thoughtfully. "No, there is something different, but I do not know what it is."

"Lack of hope," answered Lord Maeglin, who had been watching his cousin as she spoke. "She has lost the hope of a ... change."

Duilin regarded him in perplexity.

"Change of what? Did she hope to change her dwelling, so she might live among Men, and suffer danger that is only restrained by a thread?"

"A change of residence is not the only change in life, is it, Duilin?" Replied Maeglin, his black eyes resting on each Elven-Lord in turn. The phrase held many undertones. There was a long silence, which was finally broken by Idril.

"And what change was there, _ettaréro_?" asked Idril at last.

He shook his head. "I know not. I have spoken with her thrice, but that has not allowed me to know what affected her."

"Whatever the change might be, it has transformed her," said Ecthelion.

"Perchance she suffers from grief." said the Princess. The Second born were not immune to grief, although it was not in them to feel it with the intensity of the _Quendi_. "Grief for her family and for her people. She must, just as we do, yearn for her race and culture."

"Or maybe it is a feint, and she is trifling with us once more, so she may escape," said Duilin obstinately. "In truth, I do not trust Hwa-Young, not after her hostile treatment, beginning with Lord Glorfindel."

Turgon looked towards Glorfindel, his gaze a command clear enough for the half-Vanya to speak.

Glorfindel chose his words, remembering the song, and the impassive face turned towards the Moon. At last, he looked up from the marble table.

"I do not know what to think" he said "I have not spoken with her except for an occasional greeting, and she does not answer me save with a nod. I do not know what happened to Hwa-Young, all I can see is the change it caused."

Turgon nodded. A hummingbird fluttered near the window, flashing scarlet and green in the autumn-blue sky.

Hwa-Young's change had been for the better. When his daughter had brought her books, the woman and gave them back, and after thanking her, said she did not wish too. According to Idril, she had been polite, but distant, treating her with a cool courtesy that could not be interpreted as a slight, but was neither effusive. Neither the Celebrindal nor Lord Rog, who had been present, could declare anything against her behavior.

"What is your advice, my Lords?" He asked at last.

"I believe it is only a childish display of sullenness or else a tactic towards an end-purpose," said Duilin, his sharp eyes following the hummingbird in its wind-quick flight, and then returned to those assembled.

"In that, Lord Duilin, I differ. Why would she escape? The world out there is fraught with perils, as surely the _Orcor_ showed her. Here, she is safe." said Ecthelion.

"So, you believe, Lord Ecthelion, that Hwa-Young is in grief, as my daughter intimated?" Turgon asked.

"I know not, my Lord, but I do not believe this is a strategy for escape."

Penlod seconded the Lord of the Fountains.

"My King, I do not believe Hwa-Young represents any danger. Her change might be from sullenness or grief. But she knows her sudden transformation will draw attention, which, if she was trying to escape, she would not wish. I highly doubt she is using this as a gambit to leave Gondolin."

"Lord Egalmoth?" asked Turgon.

"I would advise that we treat her as we have done thus far. It has brought a peace between her and us."

"Lord Maeglin? "Asked the King, his hope falling on the wisdom of his young sister-son.

"My Lord, it is not for us to know what she thinks. It may be some new ploy, but I do not share this thought. It could be her behavior is caused by grief, but let time pass, then we shall know. Time and Patience are the most excellent paths towards understanding a person, and, we, my Lords, we have both. Soon we will know the result and let us be ready for either one."

All eyes were turned to Turgon, who sat in silent thought.

"Certainly, your advice is full of wisdom, Maeglin, "he said at last. "We will wait. Time will tell us the true intentions of Hwa-Young. "

When the Lords had left, the Princess remained behind with her father, seeing how his brow was clouded.

" _Atar_ , tell me what troubles you," she said.

Turgon looked towards his child and answered softly,

"I may be the one to blame for this, Itarillë."

Idril sat in her place, the question read in her bright eyes.

"When I rebuked her, I spoke of her family. I told her that they were heroes, but she could never be one because of her selfishness." There was some regret in his voice. "Perhaps my chiding was too harsh. She is a mortal, and not like one of us. I let my anger rule my words instead-"

The snowy arms wrapped around his neck interrupted his sentence. Idril leaned her golden head against the raven of her father's and said with a bright smile,

"Do not fret, _Atar_. She felt it keenly, but at least there is peace. I am sure that one way or another, things will change."

"You have so much hope, Itarillë, but remember she is a mortal."

"We never thought we would a place to live in peace, but here we raised Gondolin, away from any knowledge of the Unnamed One," she answered. "Something will happen, _Atar_. I know not what, but it will, and then we shall know why she changed."

* * *

"You must train your fingers, to give them the strength you need. Furthermore, they are tensed, which injures the tone of the harp"

Glorfindel looked up from where he had been resting his head on the neck of his harp. He had been struggling to recall the note, so intent on his work that he had not noticed Ecthelion enter.

The raven-haired lutist crossed the room to the recess of the oriel window and studied his friend.

"What tune are you trying to play?" he asked.

Beyond the glass, autumn wound a golden path, it's sweet breath chilling Beleriand. Below them in the gardens, crimson leaves faded as the light failed, and were pulled from the branches. The air was cold and sharp. There would be a frost that night, but Kementári had been bountiful, and the fruitful harvest was gathered safely in already.

Glorfindel did not answer but plucked another note and groaned in disappointment.

"Come, Glorfindel. You spend your spare time alone in your room, and we miss your company. I don't understand the reason for this seclusion. I know you enjoy the harp, but you are suddenly showing a baffling amount of interest in it." Ecthelion paused and then said. "Tell me the name of the melody, perhaps I can assist you."

It was an enticing offer. Ecthelion was known well for his godlike power with music, and none in Gondolin could rival his voice or his ability with the flute. Whether he played or sang, those who heard lost themselves in the clear rhythm, the silvery sound that wove images of things unknown and beautiful. The very birds would halt their singing to hear him. Nor was it strange that anyone who was a stranger to the art of music to ask his advice. It always granted willingly, for Ecthelion delighted in aiding those who were interested in the art dearest to his heart.

"Come Glorfindel, you know that I can aid you," he said, "I have done it before."

"Not this time, my friend," Glorfindel answered.

"Why not?"

Glorfindel only shook his head, studying the harp carefully, as if trying to guess the next note.

"Will it be for some fair lady?" asked Ecthelion archly.

The Noldo's calm, serious nature rarely led him to jest, but the raillery intended to make Glorfindel heed him. The question was not without merit: Gondolin's Darling was still young and had not passed that age in which the _Quendi_ commonly find their mate.

Glorfindel would have ordinarily rolled his eyes, but this time he did not appear to notice the quip. He plucked the harp again and laughed delightedly at the note. He began to play slowly, and although he stumbled several times, the melody was understood.

Ecthelion raised an eyebrow. He had never heard anything like it before: it sounded strange and unbeautiful to his harper's ear. After a few moments, Glorfindel began to hum the song, while playing the melody. With the added distraction, the mistakes were more numerous, but he did not cease.

When the song ended, Ecthelion asked with sincere surprise. "What is that, pray?"

"A song, I believe," answered Glorfindel.

The other sighed in forbearance. "Unmistakably, it is so. What is the name of the tune? I have never heard of it."

Glorfindel did not answer but began to play again.

"Loosen your fingers as you play, that will better the sound," Ecthelion advised, before leaving the room.

* * *

 _Ecthelion's POV_

" _Not even I know what has come over Glorfindel. Duilin believes some lady has caught his eye, but his attitude is not one of love and adoration. It has something to do with the foreign song he plays so consistently._

 _Sometimes I wonder if it's a song he heard from Hwa-Young. If so, I do not understand why it is important for him to play it. Perhaps Glorfindel is trying to get her out of her strange mood. I do not think it is the most advisable, but he has a kind heart, that's why he is truly called the Darling of Gondolin._

* * *

 _Glorfindel's POV_

' _I fear my strength does not lie in music._

 _As Ecthelion told me, I must relax my fingers, and strengthen them. I hope that within two months I will be able to play it well enough to show Hwa-Young. This way...I think I can help her grief. She has a grief that has been stabbing her heart for a long time. I do not know what it is, but I know that this song will help her... and I hope the Válar will be kind enough to help me when I play it for her'_

* * *

 _Two Months Later (_ _Aldúya, Day of the Two Trees. Ringarë (December), Time of Winter, First Age 461)_

 _Laura's POV_

' _The moment has come at last. I'm sick of these Elves! Every day I must bite my tongue, so I don't tell them what I think of them all!_

 _The only one I speak to is Maeglin. He may not be a friend: I've never a friend except Remmy, but I can engage in a conversation with Maeglin without having to deal with that egotism the other Elf-Lords possess._

 _As for Blondie? I don't care anymore ... in fact, not even Turgon interests me._

 _All I'm interested in is leaving, and if I have to kill Elves in order to make good my escape... all the better. I have everything ready. My whip, my rope with the grappling hook and the stain to paint my face and arms are ready._

 _Oh! Dear God, someone is coming! It's Blondie. What does that damn elf want? To make my life more miserable? He already examined the house in the morning, that's more than enough. And now he's calling me._

 _He needs to get out of here, because time is running short, and I need to make use of this moment and leave the city._

 _Damn you, Blondie, here I come! Get ready, because my face will be the last thing you'll see.'_

* * *

The cottage remained silent. Glorfindel glanced around. The night was moonless, but the stars were very bright. Perhaps she was sleeping, or perhaps she was only ignoring him.

He seated himself on the bench, beneath the leafless oak. The amber-colored lamp hanging near the doorway illuminated the entrance, but no one cast a shadow.

 _'Válar, hear my prayer. May she be pleased with my gift.'_ he murmured. His heart beat quick, as it had not done even before evils unnameable. The song he had heard the mortal sung twice rang out in the cold air.

Within the cottage, Laura knotted the girdle around the robe, to hide her Kevlar suit. She disheveled her hair and hurried to the door, ready to tell the Elf she wanted to sleep, and his presence was preventing it.

Her hand froze on the latch as she recognized the song.

How did he know that song? Where had he heard it? Her brow furrowed fiercely. Opening the door silently, she approached him with the soundless skill that had made her feared around the world. She did not intend to banter words with him, but to strangle him. He had eavesdropped, pried into things he had no right to know.

But when she saw him in the amber light, his eyes fixed on the harp as slowly played, her hand, which had gone to her whip, released it, and hung by her side.

Glorfindel still did not look up, focused on the strings of his harp and the sound that quavered in the starlight. When he came to the refrain, he began to hum, stumbling at times as he played.

Laura listened attentively to the melody, her eyes first fixed on the fingers of the Elf-lord, and then settled upon the half-Vanya's face. He was frowning slightly, and she did not move her gaze again.

She listened as he whistled, trying to emulate the part where she had whistled, and then continued playing haltingly, but he did not cease.

Glorfindel faltered in a note, wondering whether to discontinue and save himself from the humiliation. There was no sign she had even been listening.

His heart leaped as a voice began to sing as he played the refrain. He recognized it, well-rounded and strong, and not daring to look up, continued. He played the refrain once more, accompanied by her voice.

Finally, once the last note of the harp was lost in the night air, Glorfindel raised his blue eyes and saw that no less than five steps away, the young woman was stood. Her green eyes were fixed on him, showing amazement and demanding answers.

* * *

 _Laura's POV_

' _What the hell was it that stopped me from killing that son of a bitch! I must be getting soft! It is not possible that the song would have stopped my escape... but it did!_

 _What the hell happened to me? What the hell is happening to me? And worse yet ... why did I sing while he played the song so badly? The hell!_

 _There's sure there's a catch! There's no reason for Blondie to be so kind! What do you want with me, Blondie, huh? Try and catch me off my guard again. And rest assured, that if your answers do not satisfy me ... I will send you to the other world without the slightest remorse.'_

* * *

 _Glorfindel's POV_

 _'The Válar had mercy and heard my prayer! But this is not ended. Her eyes show all that she is thinking. She desires me to see it, I know, for she is a master at concealing her feelings when she so wishes. Why she desires this is do not know, and I also do not know why I have this desire to help her, but nonetheless, I am trying. I hope she grants me the chance. '_

* * *

"I am glad you came to listen, and, even more, accompanied me," he said, looking at her.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded harshly. "I don't know if you remember, _Lord Glorfindel_ , but the children of Men need sleep daily."

"I know," he agreed, "But I believed that you would not have it played during the day when it could overhear."

"How?" She asked again.

"In the Healing Houses," he said. "The day Princess Idril first came to visit you. I was furious that she would come: I thought she was in danger. So, once I accompanied her to the palace, I returned to ... " He paused and drew a deep breath. "To threaten you, but your singing checked me. It showed me that you were not the one who at first, I had believed who you were. It showed me you could feel, and it also showed me the grief the Princess said you had. That is why, when we learned that you knew our language, I voted that you would stay in worthy lodgings. for you to stay." He paused again "I heard you sing it once more the night I came to make peace with you. Your face was as impassive as ever, but your eyes..." He stopped.

Laura stared at him. Despite her constant guard, something was happening in her heart, changing it little by little. The will to kill him was fading away.

"My eyes ...?" She said in a hard voice.

Glorfindel frowned as if seeking to express what he had seen.

"I cannot describe it, but what I saw in your eyes that night I cannot forget. This why I have tried to learn the song so meaningful to you." He chuckled. "I thought maybe you would like to hear it played, even though I am not a musician. After all, you are right about this: the _Quendi_ are not masters in everything. I could not get the right notes, even after preparing for four months."

Laura did not answer. She watched him for a few minutes, and then turned away, back towards the house. She had no time to waste, that night was ideal for escape.

Seeing her leave, Glorfindel stood but did not follow her, knowing that if he did, the woman would respond unkindly.

"Hwa Young," he called softly. She did not stop.

Glorfindel sighed.

"Hwa-Young!" he called again "We all have a right to a second chance... one to show who we truly are. Those are not my words, but those of Maeglin's, and yours, which shows that both, you and he, have seen what I am blind too." He paused. "I accept that I behaved like a child, as you said. I just beg you to understand my position. I helped build this City, not only the walls but the people. I swore I would protect it and all therein with my life. But now, I ask you, appealing to you with your own argument, that you give me a chance to show who I truly am." He stopped, unsure of what to say, but his fëa guided him. "Hwa-Young, I know you feel alone, misunderstood and hopeless. I also lost my family, not long ago... but I found that all is not lost and that there is always hope. Give us a second chance, give me a second chance, give yourself a second chance." he pleaded.

"There are no second chances," Laura murmured. "Not for people like me"

"You have no idea how wrong you are," answered Glorfindel softly.

Laura spun around angrily, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air. "And let me guess ... you _do_ know how wrong I am, Master Know-it-all!"

Glorfindel did not flinch, although the new pet-name did not please him.

"Maybe. I do not know," he said, holding her gaze.

Laura watched him for a long time, her gaze impassive. Glorfindel did not know what she was thinking, whether she was measuring his attitude, or considering ways to mock him. He only raised a quick prayer to Erú and the Válar once more.

At last, Laura put a hand on her waist and tilted her head to the right, her gaze no longer harsh nor dangerous. No, instead it was a look that would take Glorfindel several years to understand.

"Your fingers are very clumsy," she said roughly.

"Yes," he admitted, with a sigh. "I-"

"And the notes in several measures are wrong "she interrupted, her tone even harsher. "You are trying to play it according to my voice, but the melody is not the same."

"Perhaps, if you taught me, that could be amended," he answered evenly.

Laura took a deep breath, as if to give her patience, and rolled her eyes.

* * *

Vàsa was rising from the East, lighting Gondolin with her golden rays, filling all she touched with life, calling forth the daytime pursuits of the _Quendi_.

The sky that in the night been illuminated with hundreds of thousands of stars, changed. Delicate, dawn-tinted brush strokes colored the clouds.

The Hidden City came back to life. The House of the Harp took the place of The House of the Swallow in guarding the Gates. The Great Market was filled with the laughter of Neri and Nessi who bought and talked.

Away from the clamor of the market, beneath the snowy oak, a fair Quendë with hair of gold and a homely, black-haired _firíma_ sat on either side of the bench: the discourteous daughter of Men teaching the gallant son of Elves how to play a strange melody on his harp.

* * *

 **So... what do you think guys?**

 **Waiting for your reviews!**


	13. Insights

**Hi guys... again! Have passed a while since the last upload. There have been a couple of situations, but... finally here are the next two chapters.**

 **As always, I want to thank to Celridel for her immense help as well as all the readers of this story.**

 **Hope you enjoy them and waiting your reviews, guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 13: Insights**_

Three Months Later ( _Valarya_ , Day of the Válar. _Súlimë_ {March}, the Stirring, First Age 462.

The night was cold and the stars frost-sharp, but a faint reminder of warmth stirred in the trees, an intimation that Yavanna, Giver of Fruits, had not forgotten Beleriand after the long winter.

"Again," commanded Laura, seated on the bench beneath the brooding oak.

Glorfindel sighed. Her incessant demands and impatience made her a difficult companion. Nonetheless, whenever it was the turn of his House guarded the small cottage, he would take his harp with him. They would seat themselves on either end of the bench, and from dusk to dawn, practice the song so dear to the woman's heart. She was a harsh and unkind teacher but despite her unswerving discourtesy, she had honored the agreement, and never called him _'Blondie'_.

During those months Glorfindel had been able to understand her nature little by little. He was attentive and had learned to read the scarcely perceptible signs she made: a slight flicker of her gaze or movement of the mouth, or even a glimmer in her green eyes.

She was skilled in concealing her emotions, but it seemed to him that at times Hwa-Young would glance out of her cloak of secrecy. Some signs were still unreadable to him, but he was assured that this harsh woman was only a mantle Hwa-Young wore. Beneath many swathes of different-hued garments, he would eventually find the real woman, and truly know her. She clutched those layers to her like protective mail, and it would be nigh impossible to reach her, but he would _not_ cease until he succeeded.

Despite this, he was not servile. Even though he wished to find her, silence was not always the answer to her insults. There were tempestuous arguments then, a rivalry between him and the woman.

"I said _'again'_ ," she repeated harshly.

"The note is correct," said Glorfindel quietly. Her discourtesy was beginning to grate on him: it would behoove her to desist.

"And how do you know that?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I've been practicing the song for months, Hwa-Young. I know the notes."

"Mmm-hmm. But who knows this song better? After all, I've been the one who taught you all these months. "

"Indeed, but I learned it, and I know the notes," he answered, his blue eyes sparkling at the derision in her tone.

Laura smiled inwardly. After all, all the Elf-lords except for Maeglin, had, in her opinion, a strong superiority complex, which could be easily used against them. After that, Glorfindel graduated to anger, and _'he who gets angry loses'_. Laura knew it perfectly and had used it several times against him, enjoying the rivalry that ensued: who could overcome the other in a war of words.

"If you did know all the notes, you could have played the song flawlessly. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're still wrong."

"This tune is characteristic of North Korea's culture, and it is slightly harder for me to learn something so different," he said, imitating the veiled insolence of her own like a mock-bird. "I assure you that you would find it so were you trying to learn one of our songs."

"And what makes you think that? After all, I learned your language without anyone's help," she answered, tilting her head in a jeering manner.

"Music and language are separate matters. Mastering a tongue is very different than mastering an art like Music. Lord Ecthelion would tell you so."

"Is that so? But unfortunately, my dear Elf-lord, the Lord of the Fountains is not here to defend your point. Until he arrives and does so, your argument is invalid."

Glorfindel clenched his fingers around the column of his harp, the sturdy woodwork a poor surrogate for the hilt of _Culumaica_. She had overplayed herself again. However, the rivalry that caused them to bicker each other, and that also allowed him to explore some of Hwa-young's traits, overcame his anger. It was a game of chess, their words the pieces on the board.

"And why is my argument baseless? Do you not believe my word?" he said, his tone a child of insolence and resent. He knew that the end-purpose of the woman was to anger him. "You know who I am, do you not?"

"Yes."

"And you still do not believe me?"

"Ah ... no," she said, with a mocking smirk, augmented by the insolence with which she answered his question. The black knight moved forward, he thought.

"And why not?" He said. "For three months we have been practicing this song, and in that time, you have not found it in yourself to believe me?" It only a white pawn, a weak counter-offense for her knight.

She shrugged indifferently.

"No. A song does not make people trust each other... or does it, _Blondie_?"

Glorfindel stiffened slightly. The woman was testing him, testing his patience and temper. Mayhap it was to know him, or mayhap to know if he would pay the price of knowing _her_.

"Our agreement was that you would not call me _'Blondie'_ and I would not call you _'firíma'_ ," he said, but the sudden rigidity of his body that did not go unnoticed by Laura. Seeing she had the whip hand and determined to win, she answered quietly.

"That's true. The problem is that you have not left me a choice other than calling you that beautiful name. What you have said so far, since I ordered you to play the note, fits perfectly with the description of a 'blondie'."

Glorfindel smiled at her. "We of the _Quendi_ allow none but our liege-lord or lady to command us, _firíma_ ," he replied, accentuating the name. His rook parried the black knight.

Laura's eyes widened, and Glorfindel was glad to have silenced her for the moment. His rook had defeated the black knight, but the answer was not what he had supposed. She arched her left eyebrow, tilted her head to the right and crossed her arms over her chest, looking straight into his eyes, her eyes challenging.

Glorfindel had learned that when she arched her left brow and tilted her head to the right meant she was inviting him to a contest of looks. He returned the gaze. Laura remained in her position, Glorfindel had his back straight and his head high. Bot their faces were impassive, and Elf and Human could have been mistaken for statues were not for the slight movement of their chests. Sapphire eyes locked with emerald eyes in absolute silence; it was their eyes that said more than a thousand words in the hush.

After a few minutes passed, Glorfindel felt his eyes beginning to sting, which quickly grew into a burning pain. The woman seemed untroubled, and he mumbled inwardly, bitter at his inevitable humiliation. _'By the Válar! How is it possible that she does not need to blink, and I do_!' The woman's queen had taken his knight.

A slow smile of triumph appeared on her thin lips, and Glorfindel was forced to blink rapidly.

Her smile widened. She blinked several times and said kindly. "Okay, okay. The _Quendi_ have honor, they do not allow anyone to order them about." She paused, and her eyes shone. "Unfortunately, they are not able to stand a few minutes without blinking."

Glorfindel frowned. Black Queen facing White King. Checkmate.

"Anyway, since this important matter has been solved," she said after a moment, irony tinging her tone. "Play the note. The dawn is near. You have duties it to attend to and I want to sleep."

He sighed inwardly and played the note she had commanded. He had advanced greatly and by _Yestarë_ he was able to play the song with few mistakes, although earning had been complicated by his teacher's impatient nature and how foreign the song was. He began to play the song, and when he came to the refrain, sang the words she sang, although they meant as much to him the chatter of a squirrel.

He heard her breath deeply, and raising his blue eyes, saw her smiling, a smile of true delight. It lasted for a few seconds, and then her hard mask returned. He looked down at his harp. No doubt she had tried to suppress that smile in his presence, but finally, wooing mirth had won her. What he had not achieved through the challenge, he had achieved by imitating the words she sang. It revealed something to him: Hwa-Young had feelings of joy and merriment, however deeply buried. He wondered at their suppression, but for the moment, the discovery was satisfactory. It was needful to continue slowly unraveling the cloth.

The song finished, he stood up with his harp in his hand. Laura emulated him at the other end of the bench.

"You need to keep practicing, Lord Glorfindel. The refrain still lacks fluency when played, "she said seriously, although there was a glint of conquest in her green eyes.

He smiled inwardly at the challenge.

"Indeed, Hwa-Young. Have a blessed day."

"Likewise, Lord Glorfindel."

He went down the garden, but at the gate, stopped and turned.

"Hwa-Young?"

Laura, who was already going to enter the cottage, looked towards him and waited.

"Smile more often," he advised. "It is becoming: you are winsome when you smile because of mirth."

Laura was startled, her black brows lifted high in shock. He laughed. His knight had moved against her queen: she was forced to retreat. It was a fair game now.

"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young," he repeated, smiling.

Laura stood still on the doorstep, not moving until he disappeared from her sight.

"Damn elf!" She muttered, but the anger that would have led her to mock or even kill him...did not cross her mind.

* * *

"You are in a joyful humor today, Glorfindel. Why so? "

The half-Vanya looked up and saw Lord Egalmoth, clad in a blue mantle, with his curved sword at his belt, going towards the cot, followed by ten guards of his House. He watched him curiously, studying Glorfindel's smile and finally, the harp in his hand.

"It is naught," he replied. "Only that I recalled something amusing."

Lord Egalmoth was not as earnest as Lord Ecthelion, and perhaps at another time he would have asked his young companion-in-arms what he had remembered, but his curiosity turned towards the harp.

"And the lyre?" he inquired.

"It is for entertainment during the night," Glorfindel answered sincerely.

Egalmoth raised a surprised eyebrow.

"I thought that once you inspected the cot, you returned to the palace once posting your guards."

"At first, I intended to, but the night was pleasant," he said, feigning indifference. It was imperative that Lord Egalmoth had never the slightest suspicion of what was transpiring.

Fortunately for Glorfindel, Egalmoth was never perceptive to the degree of Ecthelion. Ecthelion knew Glorfindel well, and his calm, insightful nature would have cornered his friend until he knew the truth.

The Steward of Gondolin, although not wholly satisfied with the answer, did not consider it suspect. Glorfindel was renowned for his loyalty to the king, the Princess, and the City.

"May you have a blessed day, Lord Glorfindel."

"May you have a blessed day, Lord Egalmoth," he answered, returning the courtesy, and both left, one towards the cot and the other towards the palace.

* * *

Glorfindel completed his duties towards his House, sending the ten guards to rest and preparing another cadre that would soon replace Duilin's soldiers in the guarding of the Gates.

He then turned towards his chambers, going towards them through a garden. Bluebells, enticed by the warmth of the morning, opened in dewy hosts, their hue rivaling the color of the sky. Bashful snowdrops hid their white apparel under the dark-blue flower. Beneath the shade of a budding mallorn, he paused. Some furlongs away, on a wide marble staircase that joined one of Idril's rooms with this garden, two figures were standing.

In the middle of the staircase was Idril Celebrindal, dressed in a simple garment of white, that came to her slender ankles. Her golden hair fell in loose curls across her shoulders and down her back. Below her, Maeglin stood, dressed in sartorial black, his raven hair braided away from his face.

They were speaking in hushed, tense voices so that he could not hear the words. The Princess was taut as a bent bowstring, unhappy and agitated, Maeglin's stance was pleading.

His honor forbade him to eavesdrop, and he continued quietly. He did not like that that Lord dogged the Flower of Gondolin, but how could he say ought if he was somehow guilty of what was transpiring.

Glorfindel shook his golden head. He did not know what to think, but he knew that he did not relish it. Worse still, King Turgon was so blinded by his love for Maeglin that he was unable to see that the footsteps of his only child were dogged by her cousin, son of the Dark Elf.

With a sigh, he shut it from his mind, determining to enjoy his brief rest.

* * *

"Good morning to you, Lord Maeglin," said a voice that startled the young Elf. Absorbed in his chaotic thoughts and the storm which had gathered in his heart again, he had not noticed the presence of an Elf.

Looking up, he quickly recognized in his tasseled interlocutor Lord Salgant, Lord of the House of the Harp. Salgant was soft and sluggish. The flesh around his eyes dulled their light, and though he had great strength, he was cowardly at heart, gullible and pliant. He admired Maeglin and was kind towards the half-Noldo. And the sister-son of Turgon knew it.

"What troubles you, Lord Maeglin?" Salgant asked, seeing that his face was more somber than was its wont.

"It is naught, Lord Salgant. I only had an unkind encounter," he replied, his agile mind quick to understand how he could use Salgant for his benefit.

The corpulent Lord frowned. There were few who were kind to Maeglin, and even fewer, those who befriended him, save for King Turgon and Salgant himself.

"What occurred, Lord Maeglin?" he asked, showing sincere concern.

"I do not want to trouble you with my difficulties, Lord Salgant," said the other with a short sigh.

"Lord Maeglin, have you had a hostile meeting this morning?"

Maeglin smiled wryly, looking towards the clear spring sky.

"My cousin, the fair Princess Celebrindal spurned me not an hour past." He paused. "I truly enjoy her company, but she does not realize it," he said with a sad accent, far more sincere than anything else he had uttered.

"Our Princess is, at times, distrustful of ought that be different," answered Salgant. "In that way, she is like her mother."

Maeglin laughed, shortly and painfully.

"So, even Lady Elenwë would have shunned me?" The knowledge was unpleasant.

"Courage, Lord Maeglin!" Salgant said, touched by the face of the king's sister-son. "One day the Princess, will understand who you truly are. I have seen in you, Lord Maeglin. You are not who most consider you to be. Therefore, if you desire, I will vindicate you before the Princess."

Maeglin smiled. That was what he needed: that an Elf-lord, a member of the Council, would speak in his favor to the Celebrindal, and at last, she would come to trust him.

"I would greatly appreciate that favor, Lord Salgant," he said bowing, as he held his right hand to his heart.

Lord Salgant smiled kindly and returned the greeting.

"May you have a blessed day, Lord Maeglin," he said, "And take heart, my friend. The day will come when things are changed."

"I welcome your words, Lord Salgant, and am glad to know that, even in the midst of this enmity, I can count on a friend. Have a blessed day."

The Elf-lords parted. Maeglin towards _Anghabar_ , uncertain in his mind. Many times, he had rejected the idea of manipulating Lord Salgant at will and for his own benefit, but if that allowed him to win his cousin's heart, maybe it would not be so ill.

* * *

Lord Egalmoth came out of the cottage, ducking under the low doorframe. He had thoroughly examined every gap, had left no corner ignored, and had found naught. Standing on the lintel, he saw the gardens alight with daffodils. Near him stood the young woman, who had remained silent.

"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young," he said.

"Likewise, Lord Egalmoth," she replied, without intonation.

For the first time, the Lord bowed his head slightly and smiled at her, remembering Glorfindel. Perhaps, with a certain kindness, the _firíma_ would change her state, but she only bowed her head and stepped inside.

Lord Egalmoth sighed inwardly. What would have made Glorfindel smile? Surely it was nothing to do with the woman, she was as merry as Nienna, Lady of Tears. Surely, it was some other matter, and the only ones who could get the truth from him was Ecthelion and the King.

He placed his guards and turned to the palace. After several hours he would return to see how the human was faring, accompanied by a servant who brought food for her.

* * *

Laura glanced at the window and saw Egalmoth nearing the palace. Scanning the room quickly, she took out her tools: the whip, the rope with a grappling hook, her kevlar suit and the stain she had prepared.

She stared at them for a long while. Neither that night nor the following were suitable for escape. So, she would continue teaching Glorfindel the song she loved so much. He was learning fast, she admitted, and they would spend the night singing, playing and bickering. However, much they bickered, Laura enjoyed spending time with the half-Vanya. The idea of escape had lost much of its appeal.

The first few times she had realized that she had gotten angry with the Elf, and above all, herself. She was growing soft! She! The most effective assassin on Earth! It had never touched her heart to torture and kill, but now a stupid Elf-lord was making postpone her escape. And she knew perfectly well, that was how human psychology acted: to postpone the things you do not want to do until it was too late. That way, there is no guilt because there is an excuse: there was no time.

She has been trained in the most rigid way, she had done terrible things, she had committed murders in the cruelest and most bloodthirsty ways, she had tortured without blinking, but now, this Elf with his bickering was bringing out something human in her. He had even made her smile! Nobody had done it for a long time... only Remmy had managed it, but Remmy was different. He had a dark past, unlike this Elf with the face of a Botticelli angel, and a history that was surely as bright as his armor and smile.

Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No, she would not allow it. She had to escape, that had always been her goal. Her story had not worked, now she would try by her typical means.

She drew another breath into her chest. With a sudden movement she held up her suit before her eyes, as if to imbue her memory with everything she had done while wearing that black suit at night. Yes, it would hurt, and it would hurt horribly because she had become accustomed to the presence of the Elf-lord, but it was necessary. Glorfindel had become cancer, and if it was not uprooted immediately, he would continue to grow on her... and then? Laura shook her head, she did not have the remotest idea, but just thinking about it gave her fear. She had always faced her fears therefore, she must distance him. And she would.

* * *

The night it was the turn of his guards to watch the cottage, Glorfindel approached with his harp in his hands. It was a warm night. There was a breath of springtime in the misty trees and crickets made the night throb with their tiny life.

He sat down on the bench, in his accustomed place. She was not present, but he was used to that. She often came out late: to show disinterest in his high rank and mock the respect he received elsewhere, but he had become familiar with it.

Time passed on, and his patience exhausted, he began to play the melody. The cot remained silent: a nightingale warbled. Seeing this, he began to sing when he replied the refrain, but there was still no answer.

At last, he rose and went to the door, carrying his harp with him.

"Hwa-Young," he called softly.

Before he could knock, the door was wrenched open, and Laura appeared in the doorway. Her stance was so threatening, and her eyes gleamed with such a feral light, Glorfindel's hand went instinctively to his sword.

"Hwa-Young-"

"Go away!" She snarled.

"Hwa Young-"

She interrupted his words again. "Go away! I do not want to see you again!"

Glorfindel's eyes widened, amazed. Her stance said the selfsame thing. What had happened?

"Hwa Young, what troubles you?" He asked gently, trying to calm her.

"Do-not-call me-Hwa-Young!" She exclaimed. Her words were jerky and forced, her tone a gutting knife. Her eyes flared, she pushed him back. Glorfindel stepped away: he would never have believed that a _firíma_ had so much strength.

When he recovered from his surprise, his voice trembled with anger.

"I do not know what I've done to you to deserve this, Hwa-Young. All these nights, you've given yourself the luxury of treating me unkindly. Certainly, we bicker; but I cannot find the reason why you are so callous. If you wish, I will never return. I, for my part, came every night because it allowed me to know you more. The song is important to me because it is an important part of you." he paused" I thought I had found that the Hwa-Young, who had always been aggressive or cold, could also smile. I thought she had a heart, some warmth in her spirit. But it seems I was mistaken."

Laura's face was a stone mask, but behind its inscrutability, a terrible pain rocked her entire being. She staggered through a haze madness and agony, fighting to seal it inside, away from his eyes. A sudden shout rose to her throat but never made it past her pain-clenched teeth.

Snatching the harp from his hands, she flung it against the wall of the house. The column broke, the wooden body cracked.

Glorfindel looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes ablaze with anger. Then he knelt and picked up his harp, his voice dangerously quiet, although his hands trembled with fury.

"As you wish, _firíma_. I will never come again."

He left without looking back.

In the doorway, Laura watched him go, until he disappeared into the night's shadows. A terrible pain was consuming her soul, she knew he would keep his word and never return. When he was gone, she closed the door softly behind her.

"It was necessary. It was necessary, " she murmured as she leaned on the door and closed her eyes.

* * *

 **And here's the end of this chapter. What will happen now that Laura has pushed away to the only one who was really interested in her as a person?**

 **Waiting your reviews, guys!**


	14. Reconciliation

**Hi people!**

 **So... this is the continuation of the last one. Let's see what will happen after the strong argument between Laura and Glorfindel.**

 **I want to thank Celridel for her help in this story as well as I want to invite to the readers for their reviews.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 14: Reconciliation**_

 _Two Months Later (Anarya_ , Day of the Sun. Lótessë {May}, the Springing, First Age 462)

It was early morning. _Vàsa's_ light had not yet risen over the Crissaegrim: her fiery chariot still hung low in the Eastern sky. Beneath a young grove of _telornë_ , lay Glorfindel. From between their silver leaves, he watched the clouds being pushed to the whims of the morning breezes.

Around him, the tall grass moved smoothly in rhythm with the dance of the _Sùruli_ , bejeweled with morning dew. Small flowers lifted their faces to the Heart of Fire. Lighting now and then upon them were butterflies of many hues and flitting hummingbirds.

Far removed from the city, this glade was silent, save for the song of birds, who, hidden among the branches, called to each other. Some sang for their own comfort, others proclaiming the power of the Válar and others sang to the trees that gave them shelter and sustenance.

Lying there, with his hands behind his head, he followed the flight of a white butterfly with his eyes. In its hilt, _Culumaica_ still rested, never far from its master's hand. Valarocco grazed not far away, both master and horse correspondingly aware of their surroundings.

Glorfindel had been in that lonely place since the fading of _Luinil_ , and although the beauty of Yavanna's gifts was marvelous, it did not weigh on his mind.

No, it was not to rejoice in the gift that Yavanna had given to the _Quendi_ , nor find a moment's rest from the noise of Gondolin that he was here. Only in solitude could he find the answer to the question he had asked himself for two months: what happened to Hwa-Young?

Since that night, he had kept his word. The only moments he was with her was when he performed his duty, ensuring all was in order. The only world he gave to her were those of short courtesy, bidding her to have a blessed day or night. He never spoke her name. She had commanded it, and he would do so.

At first, he had been enraged at her treatment. He had endured her impatience and rudeness, when very like even serene Ecthelion would have lost patience, chiefly because Music was concerned, and for him, Music was a sacred art. But he had braved her discourtesy and biting tongue and even bickered with her, all to meet the woman beneath. In answer, she had insulted him, pushed him away, and destroyed his harp.

Ecthelion had inquired about the instrument, but Glorfindel remained silent on the matter. There was no need to be chastened once again because of the ungrateful _firíma_. It was that word had made him question what had befallen that night.

 _Firíma_. _Firíma_. It was a word that the woman despised. She felt it expressed contempt for her race., and in answer, she was cold, aggressive, her tongue sharper than _Culumaica_. He did not know if the other members of the Council had been given some other _epessë_ , but his byname was one he loathed. Whenever she called him _Blondie_ , he retaliated with _firíma_. Those names were, in essence, their two greatest players on the chess-board, their Queens. Before he had left, never to return, he had called her _firíma_ , and she had not responded: only remained silent with her eyes locked upon him.

Why had she not answered with _Blondie_? What prevented her? Fear of the punishment King Turgon would inflict? No, that woman seemed nigh-fearless. There must have been another cause, but ... what?

He had read her posture, the glitter of her eyes, and everything had indicated what she said was what she truly felt. Nevertheless, she had not answered with _'Blondie'_ , as she had always done before. What had motivated Hwa-Young to drive him away with such causeless violence? He would have sworn by his sword-hand that she had done against her will, which would have wounded her deeply. However, accustomed as she was to conceal her emotions, she did not reveal it. The only matter that invited attention, and that only to him and perhaps, Ecthelion, was that her gaze was not empty. It was a strange look, an unfathomable one he could not explain, but her eyes held a secret, and he thought that the mystery was the pain she had suffered in rejecting him. Now, he had to know why she did it.

The leaves whispered above him as he thought, hoping that he could discover the reason.

* * *

Galdor stood on the path that led up over the _Orfalch Echor_ to the Six Gates. Below him, Lord Salgant and his House traversed the path. He was waiting, his guards still posted so that at no time would the Gates be unguarded.

"Lord Salgant," he said, as the black-clad Lord drew near.

"Lord Galdor," answered Salgant. "Are there any tidings?"

"Nay. The Válar and Erú have had mercy on us and another night has passed in peace. Let us hope all remains in calm."

"Without a doubt, Lord Galdor."

Galdor studied Salgant's face. The Lord was reticent this morn, and his face showed something Galdor did not understand but recognized as shame. Salgant was not as dear to Gondolin as Glorfindel was, but he had many companions, though there was the talk of his friendship with Lord Maeglin.

"Does something trouble you, Lord Salgant?" He asked.

"No, Lord Galdor, not at all." the other replied quickly, but his eyes strayed away from Galdor's green ones.

Galdor was quick to see that he would not discuss this matter and said. "Have a blessed day, Lord Salgant. May your guard be uneventful."

"May you have a blessed day, Lord Galdor," answered Salgant, bowing his head slightly, and sighed. It was well that Galdor was not overly-prying and had left him in peace. He did not wish to dwell on the matter. He did not want to even guess what Galdor would think if he knew.

* * *

By the time Galdor reached the palace, readying in his mind the report he would give Turgon, he met Lord Penlod in the front courtyard. The tallest of the Noldor was accompanied by a young servant, small of limb, with a pretty, piquant face, carrying a basket.

"The morning meal for Hwa-Young?" Galdor inquired, pausing for a moment.

"Yes," answered Penlod. "Fortunately, we will hear no complaints about the food. She remains silent on that matter: she is a strange creature."

Respectfully behind Penlod, Galdor noted the servant arching an amused brow, and could not restrain a smile.

"All children of the race of Men are strange, Lord Penlod."

The Lord of Two Houses shook his head.

"Perhaps, but the _firíma_ is different. Húrin and Huor of Dor-lómin were not like this woman."

"They were guests. She is closer to a prisoner. She sees us as the destroyers of her dreams, she will act otherwise than the House of Hador."

"Indeed. But in that she is wrong. We have given her the chance for freedom."

"She is one of the Secondborn, they think unlike us," answered Galdor. "Why must she be the cynosure? I weary of speaking of her."

"She is not the only one who thinks unlike us." Penlod murmured, ignoring his last words.

Galdor frowned at him, a silent question read in his green eyes. Seeing this, Penlod turned to the servant. "Lothelen, go onward without me."

She dipped a brief curtsey and followed the path across the Square of the King. Once they were alone, Lord Penlod said,

"We say that the race of Men thinks unlike us, but there are those among us who think in even stranger ways." He shook his head. "You are aware of the sympathy Lord Salgant professes towards the King's sister-son. He has advocated for him before the Princess. Since the Princess spurns her _ettaréro_ , Lord Salgant has advocated for Lord Maeglin before her several times." Lord Penlod paused "At the first, the Princess told him she did not wish to speak of it, but when he tried the third time, she rebuked him severely because of his imprudence."

Galdor nodded slowly.

"I like not the friendship between Salgant and the Prince." continued Penlod. "Salgant is a reputable warrior, his skill in the sword is formidable, but his convictions are feeble. They are like clouds, going where the wind blows. And regrettably, that wind is ever the words of Maeglin."

"I know that Lord Maeglin is not to your liking, Lord Penlod," Galdor replied after a moment. He was one of the few Lords who endeavored to be kind with the Prince. "But perhaps patience would not go amiss. Maeglin's life is not and was not idyllic."

"True," answered Penlod dubiously. "And perhaps I would not have so much suspicion was it not for the way he dogs Idril. The Celebrindal shuns him, but Maeglin shadows her nonetheless. What kinsman would do such towards his cousin?"

"Then, do you believe, like Lord Duilin, that he is enamored with her?"

"Enamored?" Penlod repeated, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Galdor sighed.

"In love," he finally said in a low voice.

"I do not know. If it is not, I am glad. But if it is, that is an unfortunate thing. We do not wed kin so near."

"Lord Maeglin knows it. I do not think that is his end," answered Galdor. "He would not do such a thing."

"Maybe," said Penlod, looking around the Court. "I must leave you now, Lord Galdor, and got to Hwa-Young," he added, while the cloud that had darkened his brow for a moment disappeared.

"May you have a blessed day, Lord Penlod," Galdor replied, smiling

"It is not such an unfortunate duty. Indeed, it has improved greatly."

"That is true," he agreed, "Have a blessed day, Lord Penlod."

"Likewise, Lord Galdor," answered Penlod, and followed Lothelen towards the cottage.

Galdor remained still for a moment, his face pensive. What Lord Penlod said was not without reason.

Salgant had always been pliant, although none of the Elven-Lords took advantage of this. Unfortunately, Lord Maeglin did not hold to their principles when it pertained to his fair cousin. He wondered for a moment if the situation was truly as Lord Duilin claimed. If so, why did the King do nothing?

* * *

It was night in Gondolin. The murmur of noise that had been heard throughout the day was slowly disappearing into the sunset. Soft songs were heard, dedicated to the stars, for that night was moonless. The clear voices of the Elves that sang them resounded from time to time in the nocturnal air, accompanied by a harp or lute, but beyond that, there was no greater sound than the night breeze.

On the roof of the cottage, a lean figure crouched, black hair fluttering around the thoughtful face. Green eyes studied the night. Wound around her waist was a whip and a long rope with a grappling hook: beneath the black suit, her chest rose and fall slowly. Laura Kinney, known as X-23 in another world, was ready to escape.

She had spent many nights on the roof of her cottage all around. The Elves supposed that she liked to see the Moon and the stars. Certainly, the Moon had a certain attraction for her, and she loved to see it, especially in this place where she could see it shine in all its splendor, without light or air pollution.

But while she sat up here, she had drawn in the wood, with her own blood, a map of her surroundings. There were places she could not see, and she had learned what she could from the guards.

The Gates were far away and getting through them was not going to be easy. For a moment, she had decided to climb the Echoriath instead of escaping through the Gates, but the mountains were high, and her ropes would not reach the top. If she used her claws to climb, that would produce noise.

She had quickly realized that the Elves had ears as fine or better than hers, and like her, could see perfectly in the dark. They would surely hear the noise she would make, and she would not be able to escape in time.

There was the possibility of taking hostages. A guard would work. Laura knew they were well trained, but they would never have the same ability as any of the Elf-lords, so there she had a chance of defeating them, and either killing them or holding them hostage. Unfortunately, she did not know what the reaction would be. Most likely, the other Elves would look to free the hostage, because they attached great importance to life, but the hostage might be so self-sacrificing he would choose death over allowing her to flee. So, that idea was out of the question.

In short, everything depended on going unnoticed and leaving by the Gates. Laura knew that every day, a detachment of Elves from one of the Eleven Houses went out to investigate Tumladen and the Echoriath. Maybe a good idea would be to shoot an Elf from his horse and flee to the mountains. There, she would have to leave the horse and continue on foot. It would not be easy. She would have to watch her six carefully, because of the Great Eagles. But what the hell! She had managed to real achievements of escape. This might be one of the most difficult, or perhaps the most difficult. But, it would be a triumph in her long list of triumphs.

With a spring, she jumped to the next roof and landed silently. This part was easy, it was when she was on the ground that the difficult part would begin.

She took another leap. There was complete silence, only broken by some ethereal chants of that immortal race. For a moment, Laura felt her heart clench. She had heard the sound of a distant harp, and wondered, that if things could have retained the status quo, she and Glorfindel would be in the garden, having a good time. Although that Elf was exasperating, he made her forget her past and see into the future ... he had even made her smile! She shook her head, annoyed. This was no time to think about such trivialities.

A guard passed by, patrolling the Way of Running Waters, where she was. She crouched quickly, so he would not see her shadow. Once he had disappeared, Laura jumped once more and found him looking towards the stars. Why did the stars attract Elves so much? It was a question she had asked herself several times and could not find an explanation. But at that moment, the fact that the elves loved to see the stars and, especially that the guard kept looking at them, ruined everything.

There was no other way but that route, and the damn Elf was ruining everything because he was dazzled by the stars. She did not hesitate. Silently, she unwound the whip from her belt and was about to strike the death blow, when she stopped abruptly, the cloth snaking onto the roof. The wind carried a faint smell that made her frown fiercely. She recognized Glorfindel in that scent.

' _Fuck_!' Laura mumbled inwardly. ' _Fuck!'_

Perhaps she did not know Glorfindel very well, but she was sure that after the way she had treated him, the Elf-lord would seek to make her life miserable. And maybe that was why he had come back to the cottage. She sat silent for a few seconds. She could go on her way, but then her escape would soon be discovered, or she could go back and pretend that she was asleep and did not want to see him ... even if that was not true. Immediately she decided on the second option. Whether she liked it or not, it was better to return as soon as possible.

Retracing her path, she returned her cottage and entered just as Glorfindel passed through the gate. For a moment, the Chieftain paused beneath the flower-clad arch, unsure of how to continue. His ruined harp was in his hands. He had determined to give the broken instrument to the woman and see her reaction. Then, he would know whether his conclusions were valid.

Those moments he lingered beneath the flowers, Laura washed her face and forearms, covered her suit and boots with a long robe, disheveled her hair, and lay down on the soft bed, although she never parted from any of her weapons.

No sooner had she laid down, when she heard Glorfindel knock on the door. No, she would not answer, she would ignore him. She would only reopen the wound she had. He knocked again firmly, and this time asked her to open the door. Laura closed her eyes in denial.

"Hwa-Young?"

She stayed still, and at last there was silence. She was sitting up slowly when the door opened. Her hand flew to her whip, ready to attack as soon as she saw his silhouette.

He put something on the floor, and the door closed gently behind him.

Laura let several minutes pass before she got up. She opened a window, leaned out and breathed deeply of the night air. He was gone. Neither her sight nor her sense of smell could detect any sign of him. She was about to remove her robe and return to the roof when the glint of an object on the threshold caught her eyes. She unraveled her whip and approached cautiously.

For the second time that night, the whip fell from her hands: it was Lord Glorfindel's harp.

* * *

The stars of the next evening found Laura seated on the bench beneath the oak, where she and Glorfindel had spent their nights arguing and getting to know each other, using the song as an excuse to do so. In her hands was the mangled harp. She was staring at it, the wound she had forced to close by stifling the pain, opened. How the hell did that stupid Elf do such a thing?

Last night she had stayed in her bed, her face hidden by pillows. Laura had never cried, but on that occasion, a single tear had slipped from her eyes. She had wiped away that lone tear in rage. She was not weak! She did not cry! She could not afford to feel sad or lonely or helpless. She must always have had to be strong and tough, ready to face everything alone! That was what she had learned and that was what had kept her alive! And here was a damn elf named Glorfindel, who was ruining everything!

For the first time in a very long time, Laura felt a huge remorse and a tremendous desire to apologize. But she was not like that. She had never done it ... not for a long time and when she had ... she had done it very awkwardly.

Eventually, the night led her out to sit on the bench, and she obeyed with knowing why. She could have tried to escape that night, but instead, she sat on the bench, watching the shattered harp and remembering how she had learned that song.

* * *

 _ **Flashback**_

 _"Come on, Petite. The message our infiltrator left us is supposed to be here," said Remmy, jerking his thumb towards the store._

 _Laura nodded silently._

 _They were both mutants, finding their similarities in a dark past, instead of their characters. She was tough, quiet, aggressive, calculating, sarcastic, mocking, manipulative. Remmy, although calculating, was a womanizer, friendlier and skilled in manipulations, especially with women. He was not aggressive, he preferred to use words, and he was warm, giving her surprises just see her smile. Sometimes, opposite attract._

 _They entered the music store, and Remmy suggested, "Do you want to split up? That way we'll find it quicker."_

 _Remmy was a formidable opponent, but he was fully aware he was working with a professional assassin, who had been programmed before birth to be proficient in everything related to that profession. Her mutation allowed her to do things and resist things that would kill other mutants. Therefore, he treated her as a partner and over time, he had ended up considering her as his friend. He did not have the slightest idea why he wanted to help her and know her. Laura was not the kind of woman he liked: neither for beauty nor for temper. But he wanted to know and help Laura and little by little he had made her open up, and they had formed a kind of friendship._

 _Laura nodded, and moved to her side of the story, quickly reviewing everything, but she could not distinguish anything in the aggregation of the CDs and the DVDs. She was going to head over to where Remmy was still looking when an album caught her eye. It was an old album, but it had just been imported to the country._

 _She frowned as she read the name of the album. It was written in Celtic. Laura spoke many languages but did not speak any of the Brythonic or Goidelic languages, although she had a reasonable notion of the history. Out of curiosity, she put on the headphones and began to listen. Unquestionably the music was very different from any she had heard before. The melodies captivated her, and she continued listening, enjoying for the first time the sound of each one of the instruments, each one of the notes that constituted the melody. Lost in the tunes, a hand on her shoulder startled her. She spun around, punching her fist towards the chest of her attacker._

 _Remmy jumped aside, exclaiming in a low voice. "Easy Petite! I found what we were looking for,"_

 _Laura took off her the headphones and nodded silently. She would never apologize because that was her reaction: the best defense is the offense. She snatched the message from his hand and left the music store, leaving Remmy studying the album she had neglected to put away._

 _"Look, Petite. I brought you something," he said later when they were at the hotel._

 _"Food?" She replied, "I'm hungry."_

 _Remmy smiled. Laura was not hungry, she could stand several weeks without eating, but she liked the Parisian food._

 _"If you want, we're going to eat at the restaurant across the street, but first I want you to see what I brought you." He pulled the album she had been listening to out of his pocket._

 _She frowned at it in surprise, and then looked up at Remmy._

 _"I thought you would like," he answered, shrugging indifferently, but his grin said something much different. "Take it," he said, handing the album and the laptop with headphones._

 _"Thanks," she muttered._

 _"I'm going to go for food. I'll be back for a while," Remmy answered, but she knew that he meant 'You're welcome'._

 _A couple of hours later, Remmy returned with the food and was setting it down on the kitchen table when a noise made him stop. Someone was singing. Approaching silently, he found Laura in the living room. Her eyes were closed as she sang along with the album. At her side was a notebook where she had written down the notes of the song she was singing._

 _Remmy arched a dark eyebrow, and moved closer, paying attention the lyrics. In the end, his eyes were damp. The song perfectly described what Laura had shown him of what she felt; he is a person who shared a dark past with her, understand at the moment more than ever that the woman whom everyone feared was more than the savage, calculating assassin._

* * *

The wind brought another scent over the smell of May blossoms. Laura turned her head slowly and fixed her eyes on the Elf-Lord. For a lengthy moment, they watched each other. Finally, Glorfindel entered the garden, and sat down on the other side of the bench, in his accustomed place.

Once again, they studied each other for a long time. Seconds stretched into minutes and wore on into longer measures of times. The blue eyes of the Elf-Lord searched for answers in the empty green eyes of the woman.

Finally, Glorfindel smiled slightly, showing her in his eyes rather than his words that he forgave her. He had been angry, but her song was more important than his pride, and she even more so. If his judgment were true, that was what crossed the woman's mind.

The dark veil that prevented him from seeing what she thought, lifted, and he saw in return for his forgiveness sadness, infinite sadness and remorse. But chiefly pain, a pain caused by the shattered harp she held in her hands.

Moved by some strange thought, that he would rejoice at many years later, he offered his hand, as he would to a brother-in-arms, expecting her to clasp her wrist. She observed his hand suspiciously, but finally, to his surprise, grasped his hand with a reluctance that almost approached timidity.

He would never know why he briefly caressed the back of her hand and squeezed it gently. But many years later he would congratulate himself for having followed his heart, for it had begun something that would lead him to the one his _Fëa_ had chosen.

When he did this, Laura looked up quickly, and he saw an untold gratitude. She squeezed his hand in return, her green eyes shining.

They looked at their clasped hands for a moment, and finally, Glorfindel let go.

"Since we do not have a harp at the moment, mayhaps you teach me the lyrics of the refrain," he said softly.

Laura ducked her head and smiled shyly, her gaze low but bright.

"Repeat after me," she said after a few moments "'Hey!'"

"'Hey!" he repeated awkwardly, at which she smiled.

"And here we go!" she continued.

"A… an… and… he… he… re… here…. we… go!"

* * *

 **So... here's how it really began something that lead to those two persons to fall in love, even if they wouldn't notice in that moment.**

 **By the way, in future chapters, the name of the song will be revealed.**

 **Waiting your reviews guys!**


	15. Of Lords and laughter

**Hello world!**

 **Here's the new chapter. We've seen the VERY strong argument between Laura and Glorfindel as well as their reconciliation. Now, let's see what happens next.**

 **As always I want to thank to Celridel for being a great beta and invite to the readers to leave their reviews, they're quite important guys... and now, let's go!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 15: Of Lords and Laughter**_

 _Five Months Later (Narquelië {October} The Leaf-Fading, First Age 461)_

Since the reconciliation between Glorfindel and Laura, there had been a considerable change. Glorfindel would never have dreamed that this unkind woman, accustomed to isolation, could be so grateful. Anyone would believe otherwise, and for good reason, but a touch of her hand had had great meaning for her. That little gestures of kindness had made such a mark on her that she had begun to reveal herself. Yet, she remained a mystery to him: many of her expressions and gestures were unclear to him, and there were still times when what he deemed she said and what she did was contrary to each other.

Nevertheless, he made many advances, and of these he was proud and glad, because he was the only one among the Elf-Lords who could understand this strange mortal, and he had a latent hope that he would be able to introduce her before the Council and reveal that she was far different from the creature they thought her to be.

Every _lemnar_ , he spent several nights with her. The song was still his excuse, now that he was learning the words of the refrain. In truth, it was challenging. Learning the melody had been child's play compared to learning the words. The words and annunciations were joined together so differently and the place where the pronunciation was made was so contrary to the cadence of his mother tongues, that it hurt his mouth. Nonetheless, he rehearsed them endlessly.

His teacher was no longer as impatient or discourteous, but she was still less than tender-hearted. Old habits do not die quickly, they cling to the person, like a vine to the trunk of a tree, with all their strength, primarily if the person was youthful when these habits began. They stay until the last moment, clinging tenaciously to their possession, and without a great patience and strong will, they do not flee.

That was Laura. As long as she could remember, she had been taught that way and had only changed her manner to deceive her victims. She was a master of deception and adopted the character that would benefit her the most. Her victim often would have sworn that the temper she showed was her true disposition, only to realize too late, during the torture or the murder, since Laura allowed her victim to see her face clearly. This was because the Facility ordered her so, and she wished to see their faces as they died. A man only shows his true self at the moment of Death, and Laura knew that very well.

But it was different now. Laura did not want to hurt Glorfindel again. She would hurt him physically, psychologically or emotionally, if she considered it necessary: but this resource would only be put into practice if she had no other choice. Her real character was cold: hard, calculating and manipulative, accustomed to isolation. She did not care what other people would think, but this Elf was different. He had offered her his hand and gripped hers. Glorfindel was different and she made some effort to be kinder to him, but bad habits die hard.

Glorfindel had a patience with her that would have surpassed any other person's, but he was also a high-born Lord and would not allow Laura to scorn him, so they still bickered, but to a far lesser degree, and sometimes they forgot the song, and Glorfindel would tell her some trifle about the Elves. He could not afford to give knowledge to her. He only knew her shallowest layers.

* * *

 _"'Hey! Here we go,_

 _Through the grass, across the snow._

 _Big brown beastie, big brown face-'"_

Laura stopped abruptly and slapped the bench with her open palm in exasperation.

"No! No, no, no!"

Glorfindel looked at her in surprise. He thought he had articulated the words reasonably well. What was his mistake?

"This is the last straw!" muttered Laura.

"What is the last straw?" he asked surprised. "I believe I uttered the words rightly."

"No, it's not the words! It's the timing!" Exclaimed Laura.

Glorfindel frowned at her. "Timing?"

"The timing, the rhythm. And you _Quendi_ you think you know all about Music!"

Glorfindel looked at her. Assuredly, she would never forgive them that she was forced to remain in Gondolin outside her free will, but because his race was greater than hers. He must have had patience: she was only a child compared to him.

"Enlighten me then, Hwa-Young," he said, his voice challenging.

Laura narrowed her eyes.

"They are double eighth notes, Elf, double eighth notes! Don't you understand?!"

Glorfindel almost laughed at her absurdity. By the stars and seas, what were double eighth notes?

"Oh, for God's sake!" said Laura. "For God's sake! This Elf does not know what a double eighth note is! And he plays the harp without knowing this! "

His mirth departed in an instant.

"This Elf has a name. He is an Elf-Lord of Gondolin, and as such, you should treat him, Hwa-Young," he said coldly, stressing his noble birth.

Laura stared at him for a moment and raised her eyebrow in contempt.

"I would, if only this Elf-lord did things right, and did not show such an overwhelming ignorance." she answered, accenting her disdain of rank.

He stood up, furious. Ignorant! Certainly, he was not as couth as Ecthelion, but he was not ignorant! Above all, he was far more knowledgeable than the ill-bred mortal who dared to call him such. Laura crossed her arms and legs and leaned back, her eyebrows lifted in a mocking smile while her lips remained motionless.

Glorfindel, in spite of his anger, knew that she would now allow herself to be intimidated by any threats. If he left, she would not attempt to stop him, even less ask him to return. She was willing to do anything, even hurt herself with paying any heed to it. However, the manner in which she had crossed her arms and legs showed that this was a way of protecting herself from something that would pain her, but that she was prepared to endure without yielding to him.

Glorfindel sat down, holding her gaze. He refused to retrace the path that had been so hard to travel and waste his labor in one outbreak of anger. The woman had begun to trust him, it could well happen that, if he left, she would lock herself away, forever. He drew a deep breath, to calm himself and show her he was trying to control his anger, instead of repeating the conflict that had happened some months ago. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Laura was staring at him, unblinkingly. She looked over his body, and finally, met his eyes with a penetrating gaze. Surely, she desired to verify the truthfulness of his attitude. After a few minutes, she relaxed. Once she had looked up at the golden-leafed oak, she said,

"I have a question. If the _Quendi_ are so ' _pro_ ', that is to say, they are much better than the others. " she explained when she saw his expression. "Why do you hide in here?"

"Outside our walls is the Unnamed One-"

"Yes, yes, I know," she said, sighing wearily. "You told me that story the day you decided to make me stay here. You do not need to repeat it."

"Then why do you ask something you already know?" He replied, irked at the gesture she had made.

"Because it does not make sense. You pride yourself on being better than Men and having qualities that no one else has. Then why are you hiding? In my opinion, Men may not have all the super qualities that you claim to have, but they are braver than you because they are out there dealing with the infamous Unnamed."

Glorfindel paused to answer. Her argument was seemingly valid. The Men did not have the strength, nor the speed, nor any of their qualities, and yet they remained unprotected. But neither did the race of the Men have the wrath of the Válar on them, nor did the Unnamed One hated them to the measure that he hated the _Quendi_.

"Have ... have you ever wondered where she is? The Queen? "he asked after a moment. His voice was serious and low.

"Ah, yes ... once."

Glorfindel did not answer. He thought she would have wondered numerous times about the Queen. Laura continued.

"I thought there were only two possibilities considering the Law you have about entering or leaving Gondolin: either she was very sick and cannot leave her chambers; or more probably, she is dead. Once I knew about the _Quendi's_ skills, and certainly, you have never tired of rubbing them in my face, and Nestaë's ability, the answer was obvious. The Queen is dead." she finished with an indifferent shrug.

Glorfindel refrained from showing his surprise at her astuteness.

"You are right," he answered earnestly. "The Lady Elenwë died while crossing Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice." He paused as his eyes fastened on a distant place behind Laura. In his mind, the terrible moment was relived, the journey that had cost so many lives. "'The Pass of Helcaraxë is a place of cold and ice, where no stars can pierce. It is a place of Death, cursed by those who came before. While we crossed, the ice broke beneath the feet of Lady Elenwë who was carrying Princess Idril. I..." he paused. "The Princess, who was then naught but a babe, was saved, but Elenwë perished in the icy waters."

Laura remained silent for a moment. The tale had interested her so that she was thoughtful.

"And why were you crossing that place? Were you fleeing the infamous Unnamed? " She asked after a few moments.

Glorfindel looked at the leaf that fluttered down, pulled by the winter wind. Memories brought pain. He wished many times during the Crossing to have remained in the Blessed Realms. But nay, the Noldor had decided the protection of the Válar and the beauty of the land was not sufficient. They had chosen to leave, and retrieve the stolen _Silmarilli_ , despite the commands of the Válar. They had chosen to conquer kingdoms for themselves, where it was they and not the Válar who ruled. Their rebellion had cost them dearly, and now they suffered the wrath of not only the Unnamed but the curse of those who had once been their benefactors.

Yes, he had longed to stay; but he had an oath of allegiance to _The Golden House of Finarfin_ , nor would he leave his mother and father. Now they were numbered among the souls of the dead, within the Halls of Mandos, the payment of the rebellion. His heart flinched as he remembered that they were now abandoned in _Ennor_ , never to see fair Válinor again.

"Lord Glorfindel!" A female voice made him return from his sad thoughts. He saw Laura looking at him expectantly. "What happened?"

"No," he answered after a few moments. "No, we were not fleeing from the Unnamed. We were traveling here, to _Ennor_ , leaving our home behind."

"I thought that here was your home."

Glorfindel shook his head, and his voice was low and tender as he spoke. "No, our home, our true home is Válinor, the Blessed Realms."

"I suppose this Válinor must be a very beautiful place, considering your epithet for it."

"More than you could dream," he said, his eyes brightening like fireflies. "None of the cities that we have built here compare to the cities of Válinor. Even Gondolin is only a memory of Tirión, and Tumladen a faint echo of the Pastures of Yavanna."

Laura replied bitterly. "Well, like it or not, I'll have to trust your word. After all, you keep me locked in here all the time."

The light in his blue eyes dimmed, but he smiled faintly at her.

"If you were kinder to the others, as you are with me, I assure you King Turgon would suffer you to walk through Gondolin-"

"Do not feel unique, buddy," Laura snapped, interrupting him again. " _'As you are with me'!_ " she mimicked. "What presumption!"

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. ' _Buddy_ '? Her use of it was belittling, whether or not that was its initial meaning.

"It is because of those words you are here kept in your cottage, Hwa-Young," he told her quietly. "If you would but treat us kindly, your situation would be wholly changed. I assure you."

Laura rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," she said as if careless of the words of the Elf-Lord. "If Válinor is so beautiful, why leave a home like that? It's absurd."

It was indeed foolish, but pride had blinded many of his kin, and those who had their vision clear had come to _Ennor_ under an oath to the House of Finarfin.

"It is a lengthy tale," he said simply.

Laura raised an eyebrow, demanding him to tell her; but he met her gaze, challenging her to lure the story for him. Finally, Laura seemed to admit defeat and asked,

"And why are you hiding?"

"I already-"

"I was not finished talking," she broke in harshly.

Glorfindel saw he had interrupted her, and felt it only fair, considering the number of times she had done the same through this one conversation. Raising his eyebrow, he waited.

"Why are you hiding?" she repeated. "You claim that you are much better than the race of Men, you rub it in over and over again. Therefore, why hide? Why not face the Unnamed? It's the actions and not the words that really matter. It makes me think you're bluffing about being so superior."

"Bluffing?" Glorfindel repeated slowly.

"Yes. When you claim that you know or have certain skills or money, but in reality, you neither know nor have them. It's exactly what I think. You tell me that you can see in the dark, that you can run faster, you can stand the cold better than anyone, you are immortal, and blah, blah, blah ... but you stay locked in your pretty glass bubble called Gondolin. That's what makes me think that you are bluffing. Or maybe you are not bluffing, but you are not able to face what is out there."

Glorfindel looked at her in silence, his blue eyes ice.

"It is clear that you do not have the faintest idea of aught beyond the _Echoriath_ ," he said coldly. "Do you think you could face what hunts there? You nearly died because of an _**Orco**_ wound. I accept that the healing ability of your women is wonderful but think well. If it were not for that and that you were brought here, you would have been dead long ago. And if you think that with those arguments you will convince me to release you, you are mistaken. If you wish to face the dangers there, we will not stop you, it is your life, and you can do with it as you please. But it is for our own safety that we have forced you to remain among us."

Laura narrowed her eyes to hear the word 'forced.' Another time, she would have answered acerbically, for his words had hurt her, but she was able to see that she had overstepped her boundaries. She never wished to repeat what had happened with his harp, unless it was really indispensable, and this decidedly did not merit it. So, all she said was,

"Do you think I don't know what life is, Lord Glorfindel?" Her voice was sharp and low. "Do you think me so naïve because I'm younger than you? No, no, you are very wrong. I know Life much more than you can even imagine." Her voice rose as she continued. "You do not have the remotest idea of what my life has been all these years, and believe me, ignorance is bliss in this case, because if you knew, you would be horrified, Lord Glorfindel."

The Elf-lord frowned. Those words guarded a secret far greater than could be imagined. He noticed the young woman's gaze, like endless well in which secrets were hidden, painful secrets. He was about to speak when Laura arrested his words.

"Do not think I'm going to tell you what happened to me. You do not have my trust yet, Lord Glorfindel. But you, _Quendi_ , are immortal, right? So, Time should not be a problem for you, if it really interests you." she added, her voice a mocking challenge.

Glorfindel sat for a moment in stunned silence. He believed that he had a small share of her confidence, and now he knew that he had nothing. What would he have to do to earn it? But she had said it. Time did not trouble him, and even if it took him all her life to know her, he would gain it.

Laura got up from the bench and headed towards her cottage, evidently troubled. He thought she had remembered things that hurt her. Glorfindel rose as well, knowing any attempt to allay her distress or distract her would not help. What was done was done and he and she would have to handle it. He headed towards the archway. Its flowers were slowly fading. Autumn's cool wind was taking the blooms one by one, preparing all for Winter's snow.

"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young."

Laura made no answer and opened the door, but before entering she turned and stared at him for a moment.

"I will be much younger than you and a simple _firíma_ , but rest assured: the bigger the pride, the harder the fall is and the worse the humiliation. You, _Quendi_ , are not who you think you are. If you were, you would have a little more humility and accept the race of Men without disdain. Entire kingdoms have been destroyed by their pride. Their pride blinded them, so they challenged other kingdoms that were more powerful than they and could not overcome them. The payment for their defeat was total annihilation. _'We are strong, we live in fortified cities hidden in the mountains. We have the best lookouts that see everything from the mountain peaks that guard us. We have a great army and we are a warrior people with abilities that surpass others,'_ you say. Those were the words of the kingdom of Edom. And now ... what is it? It is a lonely wasteland in the middle of the desert. What people live there now? Only birds of prey and snakes live there. Believing themselves to be hidden among the mountains, they dared to challenge those who were stronger than them. The result was extermination. The _Quendi_ are not the exception. They maybe be immortal, but their arrogance will lead them to challenge those who they cannot overcome. And as for hiding? Sometimes it works, but it means living all your life in a cage. And even if such a thing were not so, no secret lasts for all eternity. You do not know it, but the words spoken in the corner of a hidden chamber, are sung by birds in the ears of the people who should never hear them." Her voice was empty, but her words had such weight Glorfindel felt a chill along his back.

"May you have a blessed day, Lord Glorfindel." Laura finished, nodding slightly. And she closed the door behind her softly.

The Elf-lord stood for a moment, looking towards the door. It seemed that she had just told him about the Rebellion of the Noldor. How did she know it? Or was it another conclusion she had inferred? But no! She did not even know about the existence of the Válar! How could she do that? As for what she had said about the kingdom of Edom? It seemed a symbol for Gondolin.

He left, repeating Hwa-young's ominous words in his mind. They rang too near to prophesy for comfort, too near to the dark words of the Prophecy of the North: " _Great is the fall of Gondolin_."

* * *

 _Laura's POV_

 _'To tell the truth, I never believed that the Quendi were simultaneously both so naïve and so proud. Well, true, I did not have a good concept of them. Their arrogance towards anyone who is not one of them is unbearable, and it is obvious that that pride has made them suffer. That to leave a paradise to go to a place which turns out to be a fictitious paradise? It is completely absurd! I thought Turgon would be a little more sensible, but apparently not._

 _I do not know what happened, but I do know one thing: these Elves, these Quendi challenged someone who was much stronger than them, and now they are here hiding, unable to leave this fabricated El Dorado. I only had to see the change in Glorfindel's posture and hear the way his heart changed its rhythm to discern that. Something happened and the fact that I spoke in such a way caught him off his guard._

 _In short, it is their fault. They made their bed, now they must lie in it. The story of Lord Maeglin is now fully explained. Surely it must be terrible for Turgon to know that his sister is dead because of her desire for freedom, because she could not walk as freely here as she could in this Válinor. Certainly, Eöl had a lot to do with that; but because of Turgon's pride, his people were locked up and his sister was confined, led to the chain of events that resulted in what Lord Maeglin status quo. What pride can do! And yet, these Elves are still as proud as before. Their pride and their certainty that they have duped whoever they have made their enemy will be their undoing._

 _Since they think they are perfect and all-knowing... I will show them that they are very wrong. Oh! I want to see the face of Lord Ecthelion! Fortunately, it is he and not Duilin who is coming today. I have to admit that the good Lord of the Fountains is the second Elf that pleases me. Yes, I want to see his expression when I greet him! '_

* * *

 _Glorfindel's POV_

 _'By the Válar! How is it possible that this daughter of Men has been able to make such inferences?!_

 _She is surely an observant and insightful woman, who observes, analyzes, and learns. That is how she learned our tongue._

 _One like that is a dangerous person, but I believe that though she has a skill which makes her dangerous, she has a good heart. The gesture I gave her-only the great Erú knows why I did it-showed me she is a grateful woman, remarkably grateful. The least signs that show good will and kindness, indicate her thankfulness._

 _And now her ability to draw conclusions has left me with nothing less than bewilderment. It is as if she knew about the Rebellion of the Noldor. Has someone told her? Lord Maeglin? Will she have heard it from among the guards? I do not believe it, none will talk about that journey and our banishment from our homeland, although it weighs always on our minds._

 _Her words about the Kingdom of Edom took hold of my attention, but not as much as what she said about her past. Why should I be horrified at how she lived her life? She has already told us what she has lived. Assuredly, that was terrible, but she was referring to something else, something she hid from us. What is it? I do not know, but I'll find out some day. After all, Quendi are immortal, and Time does not trouble us.'_

* * *

The wind blew cold, heralding Winter's fast approach, who was ready to cloak Gondolin in a white blanket that would rival the marble of the City.

Although it was early morning, the Sun did not shine with the splendor of summer. Its light was hidden by autumn clouds. The wind toyed with them, stripping the leaves from the trees in its play.

Lord Ecthelion, had braided his hair with great care. If there was aught that displeased the Elf-Lord, it was that his long hair was pulled about in the wind and into his eyes.

He entered the garden, and knocked thrice, firmly on the door. In a few minutes, the door opened, and Laura appeared. Her black hair was wet, she had only finished bathing.

"Hwa-Young," he acknowledged, bowing his head slightly in greeting. "Would you allow me to pass?"

Ecthelion was, after Glorfindel, the friendliest towards her. Although he did not have any obligation to ask her permission, he did it so that the young woman would feel secure, and so she was not invaded to a great extent. He asked where she wished to eat so that the servant might lay the table, and if the food pleased her. Finally, he concluded these kindnesses, in saying that if she required aught she need only let his guards know, and perhaps they would provide it. In this way, he thought to get the young girl out of her dour mood, and he knew, that she would bend unless he showed more pliancy.

That morning, after evaluating the cottage and showing his common kindness, he turned and said to her, although she usually only answered with a nod.

"Have a blessed day, Hwa Young."

"Likewise, Lord Ecthelion," she answered kindly, forgoing her expressionless tone.

Ecthelion looked at her in surprise, and Laura smirked, amused at his reaction. Clearly, her answer had its reason, because she never did aught without a clear objective. "Thank you," he answered quietly, although somewhat unsure of his words.

Her smile grew as she saw the unmistakable surprise of the most peaceful and serious of the Elf-lords.

"You're welcome. May you have a blessed day, Lord Ecthelion," she replied. Clearly, she was playing with him.

Ecthelion returned her smile and repeated. "Have a blessed day, Hwa Young. Come Lothelen, let us return."

He gestured to the servant to go ahead of him, while he mused on what had occurred. Was she doing it out of double-heartedness or had she truly learned her lesson? He stopped: his keen ear had heard a sound. He was less than a rod from Hwa-young's cottage, near enough to hear her laughter. For laughter, it was, genuine and full of mirth.

"Oh! I want to see Glorfindel when he hears about this!" she exclaimed between giggles.

Ecthelion continued silently. Laura went to the half-open window when she knew he had gone, and leaned on the sill, smiling again, mischievously, and even mockingly. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed herself so much.

"And no doubt he will know very soon," she told herself.

* * *

 **So... seems that Laura has a plan. What will it be? And what will be the reaction of Lord Ecthelion, the most serious and serene of all the Elf-lords?**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	16. A decision for life

**Hello people!**

 **Sorry for the delay, I had been a little busy lately; but here is the next chapter.**

 **In this chapter something importan will happen. So important that will mark Laura's life. Let's see what is it.**

 **As always, I want to thank Celridel for her help and invite to the readers for leave their reviews.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 16: A Decision for Life**_

Rog's great mace struck _Culumaica_ , and a shiver ran up the blade into Glorfindel's hands, while the brassy _clang_ resounded over the training field.

Surrounded by a crowd of Elves interested in the duel evolving, the two combatants fought.

The Lord of the House of Hammer of Wrath was known for his physical strength, the greatest that could be found amongst all the Noldor within and without Gondolin. For this reason, his favored weapon was the mace. _Qualmenamba_ , the Hammer of Death, was so heavy it was rumored that it took three common Elves to lift it, but Rog wielded with ease and swiftness.

However, he had found a worthy opponent. Despite his youth, Glorfindel had earned respect among the Elf-lords for not only his courage but also his handling of the sword. Once _Culumaica_ was unsheathed, he was one of the most dangerous warriors who remained in Beleriand, and only a well-trained Lord would have been able to confront with him with the hope of victory.

But Rog was also a formidable enemy, and the fight between the Lords was intense and had drawn many curious spectators. They had been struggling for three hours, the odds wavering now between one, now the other.

Glorfindel blocked a powerful blow from _Qualmenamba_ , and feinted, attempting to disorient his opponent. A murmur rose from the onlookers, as their eyes vainly tried to follow the movement of _Culumaica_ , who seemed to have taken a life of its own, such was the speed of his attacks.

But Rog was not intimidated. The Noldo considered the third greatest in valor, kept his blood cold and his mind clear, arresting each of the fierce, precise attacks that his young assailant threw him.

Glorfindel spread his legs in a long compass, his body leaning slightly forward, his left arm back to maintain the balance, while his fully extended right arm launched a spearing blow towards Rog's chest. Rog raised his hammer, but before his mace could touch the blade, Glorfindel flicked his hand, moving his sword around the mace and attacking from the other side.

Rog leaped backward out of _Culumaica's_ reach, but Glorfindel was not so easily defeated. Before Rog attacked, he immediately launched himself towards the _Noldo_ again, using the same tactic, and this time stopped his opponent's powerful blow.

Rog blocked the strike quickly, and with _Qualmenamba_ , rained down such a powerful blow that Glorfindel was forced to drop his sword. Then he swung his hammer down towards Glorfindel's head. The Elf evaded the blow with a quick duck, reaching for his sword. He rolled on the ground, grasping for his sword. His fingers brushed the hilt, when the shadow covered the noon-sun and made him look up.

Rog was less than a step away from him, his mace ready to strike. Glorfindel thought that if he grabbed his sword he might be able to stop the attack and even lunge up towards Rog's belly. But in the second Glorfindel hesitated, Rog put his foot in such a way that when Glorfindel attempted to lunge for his sword, he fell down. Then he swung such a terrible blow.

Glorfindel, with amazing speed, sprung up from the ground, but this movement was already anticipated. He found the spike on _Qualmenamba_ a few inches from his chest.

Lord Rog raised a dark eyebrow, waiting to for Glorfindel to accept his defeat. Glorfindel quickly measured his chances. It was impossible that he could reach to move before the other hurt him and even less it was possible that he could recover _Culumaica_ , so he said reluctantly,

"You win."

Rog smiled, lowered his mace and offered his arm like a brother in arms. Glorfindel clasped his wrist and returned his smile.

"You truly are a formidable adversary," Rog said, slapping him on the back. "You are quick, and your attacks are dangerous." He chuckled. "Who would have thought that the young _Quendë_ who did not know which end of a sword to hold would be on the verge of defeating me?"

Glorfindel wiped sweat from his eyes, flushing a little. Rog had seen him when he was learning to fence. The footwork had come naturally to him, for his mother had been a dancer, and he inherited her grace, but the brute force was something far different. It was Rog's advice that allowed him to learn such things. And now, he had almost defeated him.

"Many thanks, Rog, your words are kind," he replied, but his humble words could not hide the pride in his tone.

Rog nodded, and departed to the palace, while Glorfindel jogged through the crowd to Lord Ecthelion, who had been watching the duel.

"Ecthelion!" He cried cheerfully. Laura's ominous words had disappeared from his mind and in its place was the vigor of combat. "How are you faring?" he asked, going to a nearby fountain. "Will you also duel with me?" Glorfindel leaned over and drank from the icy water, before ducking his head in. There had been a frost last night, he realized, shivering at the cold embrace. When he did not hear an answer, he looked up and saw that his friend was staring at him with his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed. His penetrating gaze pierced his blue eyes.

"What is it?" Asked Glorfindel, confused at his friend's attitude.

"You and I have to talk." answered the Noldo, and taking his arm in an iron grip, led him away from the crowd.

* * *

"She did what!" exclaimed Glorfindel.

"What you just heard," Ecthelion answered.

The younger Elf frowned. Certainly, he knew very little about Hwa-Young, but the little he did know made him wander why she had greeted Ecthelion in that way.

"Glorfindel, what's going on here?" Ecthelion asked, fixing his keen gaze on the blue eyes of his friend.

Glorfindel asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know well what I mean. Now many things are explained."

Glorfindel frowned.

"Do not pretend that you are innocent of what I speak," answered Ecthelion coolly. "All those nights you spent rehearsing that strange melody. Then Hwa-Young taught you the correct notes, is that not so?" Before Glorfindel could answer, he went on. "And those strange words that you repeat over and over, trying to learn them, is something that Hwa-Young also taught you, or am I wrong, Glorfindel?"

The young Chieftain of the Golden Flower opened his mouth and closed it again, without uttering a single word.

"What is happening here, Glorfindel?" Ecthelion demanded. "Will you tell me, or will you tell King Turgon?"

Glorfindel looked at Ecthelion. He knew his friend as unbending as steel and was willing to go to any lengths to get the answer. Once again, he weighed his possibilities. Hwa-Young's trust in him was at risk. at the gray eyes at the Noldo and realized the determination of him. He knew well that she was a woman who protected herself jealously by means of secrecy, and he knew that the threads of confidence he barely grasped could be easily broken and never recovered.

Telling someone, even Ecthelion, meant that this secret would no longer be secret. Now it would be known to another, and he did not know what Hwa-young's reaction would be. Maybe she would be angered, or maybe she would not mind. Unfortunately, he still did not know her well enough to be sure what she would do. It would most likely be the second option, for he thought she liked Ecthelion and she knew that he was a close friend.

"Glorfindel."

His name took him away from his thoughts.

Glorfindel nodded. He would trust his friend and his judgment. and pray to _Erú_ and the Válar that Hwa-young's reaction would be favorable.

* * *

"A little over a year ago- the night we went to her cottage to make peace with her-I heard someone singing." he began. "You remember that you told me we should return, but I answered it was not necessary?"

Ecthelion nodded.

"I told you so," Glorfindel continued. 'Because I knew it was Hwa-Young singing. Once we took separate paths, I returned to the cottage and found that I was not wrong. Hwa-Young was seated on the roof, singing a song that I had heard on previous occasions."

"When?"

"When she was in the Healing Houses, the day the Princess Idril came to see her. I was furious for I thought Celebrindal was in great danger. I went to threaten Hwa-Young, but I stopped when I heard her singing the same song that several months later I would hear singing on the roof of her cottage." he paused. "The first time I saw her singing, her face showed great loneliness, but also some gladness. The song was comforting her. But the second time I saw her sing it ... her look, Ecthelion, her look ... I will never forget it. "

"What did you see?" Asked the Noldo, his grey eyes inquisitive.

"I do not know." Glorfindel shook his head. "Truly, Ecthelion, it is something I cannot describe to you only because I could not describe it myself. I only know that, for some strange reason, I felt moved to learn the song and, in this way,, lighten her loneliness, add happiness to her life. So, for two months, I dedicated myself to learn it on my harp." He chuckled. "It was difficult. The song was foreign to me, and Music was never my gift. Nevertheless, when I felt I had enough skill to play it, I went to her cottage one night, when it was guarded by my House, and played it. At first, she was indifferent, but eventually, she began taking note and sang the refrain with me. Since that night, every time it was the turn of my House, I went to see her with my harp and I played the song with her."

"And the words?"

Glorfindel sighed. How to tell what had happened without telling all?

"There was ... there was a difficult moment between her and I" he said at the end "A moment that she and I would prefer to forget forever" he added. "For a while, it seemed that we would never speak again. The conversation was... heated, "he added with a slight frown as he remembered that night.

"She broke your harp," said Ecthelion.

Glorfindel nodded slowly, but the Noldo did not ask him _why_. Glorfindel cast his friend a look of silent gratitude and continued.

"Yes, she broke my harp. For several months I was furious with her, but finally, I was moved to forgiveness... by I know not what. Whatever it was, it spurred me to forgive her and ignore that offense, and many others."

Ecthelion raised a dark eyebrow. Glorfindel had a kind temper, but he was not one to easily forgive offenses.

"Do not think I always let her treat me so harshly," Glorfindel said, guessing his friend's thought. "She and I bickered many times. It was after we made peace once more, that she became...kinder. Since I had no harp, I decided that I would learn the refrain of the song. That is what we are rehearsing, as well as the melody."

"And what does the refrain say?" asked Ecthelion.

"I do not know," answered Glorfindel, shaking his head mournfully. He already knew that reproach his friend would make.

"You do not know what it says!" the Noldo cried in angry astonishment. "You do not know what you speak! What if it is a curse? Yours is a great imprudence, Glorfindel!"

"Ecthelion, peace." pleaded the other Elf, raising his hand in token of submission. "I do not sense any magic in those words. And I assure you that you have not sensed it either, for otherwise, you would have inquired after more seriously, and a long time ago."

Ecthelion did not answer. He had sensed no malice or even magic in the words. What his friend was learning was strange to him, but he had not given it much importance until now. He sighed, unable to remain angry long with his friend, but concerned for his sake.

"Glorfindel," he began in a gentler tone. "What you did was still a great imprudence. What if you had invoked the name of the Unnamed? My friend, you must know beforehand what you are saying, elsewise you are putting us all at risk." he paused. "You know this _firíma's_ temper and sharp tongue, and do you think you can trust her?"

The half-Vanya knew that what his friend was saying was not without reason. But he also knew that the common opinion of the Lords was not entirely true: much of her cruel behavior was to protect herself.

"You are right," he said. "I should have known what those words meant. But you are wrong, my friend, about Hwa-Young."

The Noldo raised his eyebrow, willing to listen, although he had seen Hwa-young's insolence and spite.

"I know what you are thinking," Glorfindel began. "I had the same opinion of her, but that is the personality she creates because it is her way of shielding herself."

"From whom?" asked Ecthelion slowly.

"From us. Emotionally, we pain her. It is a truth that the Children of the Sun have bodies and minds weaker than our own, but our pride stings her. Whether it is the truth or no, being shown their inferiority would outrage anyone. So, her way of guarding herself and, in turn, attacking us is through being vindictive and bitter. But, Ecthelion, she is much more. Certainly, she is not kind, but she is intelligent, as in the way she guessed what had happened to the Queen. She has some ability with music, and her voice is pleasing. But, her most beautiful characteristic is that of gratitude. Ecthelion, never in my life have I met someone as grateful as she is!" he said passionately, as he remembered the look of immense gratitude in her green eyes when he had taken her hand. "After I revealed her that I had forgiven, her gratitude was such that she slowly unlocked herself, and although she fails, strives to be kinder." He paused. "Ecthelion, Hwa-Young is not who we think she is. She is much more than we thought. We must know how to treat her, and we will discover her little by little. She is a woman who has suffered greatly," he added after a few moments. To his mind came the words that she had said that dawn. "Not only because of what happened to her family. There is a lot of suffering that she has hidden from us and that has overwhelmed her for years."

"And I reckon you will find it out," Ecthelion said, his voice chill and precise.

"Yes," he replied simply. "Even though it takes all her life, I will not stop trying. I will seek to know her by all means and, if I can, also help her."

Ecthelion frowned. His friend had depths that he had not gauged.

"So, she does not call you _Blondie_?"

"No, not for several months."

Ecthelion gripped his friend's shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile.

"May fortune be upon your side."

"Many thanks, for I need it," Glorfindel said with a smile.

"And tell me: why did she greet me so kindly?" asked Ecthelion after a moment.

The golden-haired Chieftain shook his head thoughtfully.

"I could not tell you because I was not there," he said after a moment, "But from what I know of her, she did it to show us that the _Quendi_ are not all-knowing, and we are not who we think we are."

* * *

Six Months Later (Aldúya, Day of the Two Trees. Víressë {April} The Springing, First Age 463)

The Sun was setting, disappearing slowly behind the Echoriath. The heavens were washed with streaks of gold and red, the silent splendor a farewell to the Heart of Fire. Golden clouds and crimson islets were surrounded by seas of deep blue, which grew deeper and darker, and the glory slowly gave way to the Moon and its nocturnal starry kingdom. _Vàsa's_ farewell was beautiful, and the sky was a black net, in which glimmered silver drops, quivering as though they might drop into the hands of those who watched.

Their armor glinting in the starlight, five guards of the Fountains, headed by Ecthelion, escorted Laura across the Square of the King, towards the palace.

Laura wondered why. For over a year, she had been confined in the cottage by the King's orders; and now, strangely enough, the King sent for her. Was this another scolding? According to what she remembered, she had not given any reason for such a thing to happen. She had behaved impolitely or insolently to no one. Her and Maeglin had a friendly relationship; Ecthelion had gradually been kinder to her, as she was to him, and from time to time they talked.

Glorfindel had inquired why she had greeted Ecthelion so kindly, he knew that she did nothing without a clear objective. She was well-aware of what she was doing, but she had not told him. Her relationship with half-Vanya had improved. Although she was not the personification of the kindness, she had tried, and allowed the Elf-lord to slowly get to know her. Now he knew more about her reactions and her expressions. He still ignored many things and it was obvious that it would take him a long time to get to know her completely, but he never stopped learning and she tried to keep being kinder in answer to his attention.

Considering this, Laura did not understand and could not imagine why she had been summoned by Turgon.

Once they entered the hallway before the Council chamber, Lord Ecthelion dismissed his guards, and they were left alone.

"What's up, Lord Ecthelion?" Asked Laura uncomfortably. She liked the _Noldo_ because he knew how to measure his words, and was smart and shrewd, but his cold gray gaze was unsettling. "Have I done something wrong? Because as far as I remember, I've been a good girl. I have not treated anyone badly, although not for lack of motive." she added with a tinge of mockery.

"Listen to me, Hwa-Young. I want you to remember my words," Ecthelion told her, his voice low. "What Lord Glorfindel has done for you is something no _Quendë_ has ever done for any of the _Atani_. I appreciate your improved behavior, but your manners leave much to be desired towards all the Lords." He paused. "My friend holds that is unjust that you are confined. He thinks you have the right to go out and breathe the fresh air without climbing on the roof of your cottage. He also believes that if we are kind to you, you would show kindness to us. Lord Glorfindel has an uncommon concept of you. He believes that you are more than what we see even now, that you could be gracious, and kind did we but know how to treat you. That is why he has spoken with the King, so you may wander around your cottage. It took much perseverance to make King Turgon agreed to have this hearing with you." Lord Ecthelion leaned, his gray eyes locked with her green eyes, while he spoke in a low and threatening voice. "You will not humiliate him and make him appear as one reckless and easily-deceived. He truly believes that there is more to you than anyone can dream and is willing to prove it. Do not make him look like a fool in front of the king, because if you do, I will hold you to pay dearly for what you did to my friend."

Laura narrowed her eyes, and in the machine a dangerous light, but Ecthelion made no motion, only watched with a cold, penetrating look.

"We'll see," she replied, her voice quiet and sharp.

Elf and mortal watched each other with a fixed menace before the voice of the King was heard.

* * *

"Lord Glorfindel assures me that you have changed," Turgon said, once she was in his presence. "He says that you and he often talk during the night. Is this so?" he asked, fixing his grey eyes on her.

Laura held his gaze impassively for a moment, her features an indifferent mask. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw Lord Glorfindel watching from a nook. Despite the shadows, she perceived that the Elf was watching her intently, with hope in his blue eyes, the hope of obtaining her a little more freedom, and consequently, cheering her up.

Laura did not like being in Turgon's presence. The last time she was in front of him, the experience had not been pleasant, and Laura was still resentful toward him. But Glorfindel's gaze made her reconsider her answer. She answered quietly.

"That's right, your Majesty."

"And why have you changed?" Turgon asked. He wanted to know the reason for this and also wanted to see how much she was willing to be in front of his presence after what he had told her.

"Because I realized that my attitude was not exactly the best."

"Then why do you continue behaving coldly with the other Lords?"

"Unlike the other Elf-lords, Lord Glorfindel was kind enough to try to know me even though I had called him 'Blondie'," Laura answered sincerely. "He has shown a more ... noble heart towards me and more kindness and understanding than all the other Elf-lords, with the sole exception of Lord Ecthelion and, to a lesser extent, Lord Maeglin."

The King watched her, seeing the truth in the answers she had told him.

"I am pleased that you considered my words, Hwa-Young. Although I still require you to continue improving your courtesy, your friendship with Glorfindel tells me you have changed, a little. Therefore, I will grant Glorfindel's request, and you may walk around your cottage."

Laura nodded. She felt, for the first time in a long time, she was free for a few moments.

"Hwa-Young, before you retire, I want to apologize." The voice of Turgon surprised her. "My words were not well chosen when I reprimanded you. I should never have spoken of your family. My anger was justified, but my cruel words were not. I hurt you, and I regret that."

Laura blinked in quickly hidden astonishment. It had not been her fictitious family that had hurt her, but the fact that Noldor King had been honest with himself caused Laura to think, for the first time, that the _Quendi_ might actually have a real quality.

"No problem, your Majesty." she replied "Nothing happened here"

Turgon nodded slightly in acquiescence.

"You can retire. I will inform of the other Lords of this change, and hope that your manners improve," he added significantly.

Laura sighed inwardly. That would be a challenge, especially with Duilin.

"Have a fair evening, Hwa-Young"

"Likewise, your Majesty."

Lord Ecthelion left, followed by Laura.

* * *

"I am surprised at what you have achieved, Lord Glorfindel," said the King, once they were alone. "She certainly still feels offended and threatened by my presence, and I do not doubt it is likewise with the other Lords. However, she has changed greatly. I salute you, Lord Glorfindel "

"It is not only I that should be praised, my Lord," answered the half-Vanya. "If she had not allowed me to approach her, no matter how many efforts I had made, I could never have gained her friendship or trust, or enjoyed the pleasant talks we do during the night."

"A pleasant talk?" repeated Turgon in disbelief.

"It may seem strange to you, my Lord. The _Atani_ are not like us, but I assure, my King, this woman is intelligent, and I have often been surprised at her ability to infer and draw conclusions correctly." He thought it was wise not to mention Elenwë in the King's presence.

"Clearly the relationship between you has changed. I hope it continues this way, and you will be able to induce to behave with kindness."

"My Lord, I would like to emphasize that I am not the one who tells her what to do or how to behave. Hwa-Young has a strong temper, but she has also suffered a lot. I do not have it in me to force her to trust us. What is required here is patience and kindness. Be willing to endure her strong temper and lack of manners as long as she is changing for the better."

The High-King studied the young Elf-Lord's face. His words were full of wisdom, but also of kindness and nobility of heart.

"And who do you think she is, Lord Glorfindel?" He asked.

"That she is a woman who has suffered greatly, that she is strong-tempered, that she is intelligent and the most grateful person I have known throughout my whole life. That is one of her greatest qualities and one that we should all have to the degree that she possesses. Her speech is pleasant, and I firmly believe that if we know how to treat her, she could also be kind. My Lord, the time I spent with her is worthwhile, not only because it enables me to learn more about Men, but because she herself has great value for who she is. And the day I know her completely, I am sure I will have a welcome wonderment."

King Turgon smiled.

"There is no doubt that you have great faith, Lord Glorfindel. May the Válar be on your side."

"I'm certain I will not be wrong, my Lord," the Elf-lord replied confidently, a bold glint in his eyes.

The High King of the Noldor nodded.

"So I hope. Have a blessed night, Lord Glorfindel."

"May you have a blessed night as well, my King."

* * *

Once he finished speaking to the King, Glorfindel went out into the hallway, where Laura was waiting. He had requested Lord Ecthelion to wait here, instead of taking her to her cottage directly, for he wished to talk with her.

"Now you have more freedom," he said, smiling that merry, boyish smile that marked him. "Now you can breathe the fresh air and walk freely around your cottage. I hope that soon the King will allow you to walk through Gondolin."

Laura did not answer. Her look was low.

"Hwa-Young," the Elf-lord said softly, seeing her downcast eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing" she answered in a strained voice. "Thank you very much."

Glorfindel looked at her for a moment.

"Hwa Young-"

His words remained unspoken. Laura had raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes were shining, full of gratitude. He was not sure if it was because of tears of joy, but the light that brightened her cold eyes gladdened his heart. He smiled.

"Have a blessed night, Hwa-Young."

"Likewise, Lord Glorfindel."

The Elf-lord nodded, and turned away, as Ecthelion came to escort Laura to her cottage.

* * *

Laura had her eyes fixed on the bed. There lay the three objects she had made to escape: her whip, her rope with the grappling hook and the dye.

She could still escape. Once there was no Moon, the possibility of escape would reopen. But the words that Glorfindel had said to the king echoed over in her head, restraining her.

Nobody, absolutely nobody had talked about her like that! Not even Remmy! This Elf was willing to put up with anything to help her and, above all, to know her. He had been able to see beyond the cold, insolent and cruel person; now he saw a suffering woman who had great qualities. He had set his hopes on the day he would finally know her completely, and he was certain that she was a person who was much more than anyone could imagine. Those words had meant more for her than anything, than everything. She had been about to cry for joy, knowing that he did not see her with eyes of accusation or prejudice. No, he saw her with eyes of kindness, kindness, and nobility ... maybe future friendship?

In a quick, decisive movement, Laura pulled out her claws and destroyed everything she had prepared to escape.

She would never escape, she thought, turning to the window with an intent purpose in her gaze. She would never leave Gondolin. She hated almost every Elf, she hated their superiority complex, she hated being in a place where she was restricted when she loved freedom, but ... Glorfindel had all his hopes placed on her. Laura would not disappoint him, even if it was the last thing she did. No matter what it cost, she would not disappoint him. She would try to be nice even to Lord Duilin, she would not pay attention to the Elves' superiority complex, and she would patiently bear her imprisonment, Yes, all that she would do for the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, for Glorfindel, the only one who had given her hope and light after so many years of solitude and darkness.

* * *

 **So, this is one of the most important events that happen in Laura's life and that would shape not only her life in that moment but for the rest of her days.**

 **What do you think?**


	17. The Golden and The Black

**Hi guys!**

 **So, here's the new chapter; fortunately this time didn't take too long to post it.**

 **We've seen until now the relationship between Glorfindel and Laura, but... what about the other Elf-lords? The Elf-lords who are not exactly fond of her. What about Princess Idril? She hasn't treated her since she showed Laura the cottage. So... what will happen now?**

 **Waiting fo your reviews, guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 17: The Golden and the Black**_

 _Four Months Later (Valarya, Day of the Válar. Úrimë {August} Summer, First Age 463)_

The slowly brightening sky was lit with the paleness of falling rain, that fell tenderly upon the gardens of Gondolin. Beneath the trees, his ears full of the pattering of rain on the green leaves, King Turgon walked amidst flowers. His crown of garnets and Staff was gone, he was a slender, black-haired Elf, and lines of suffering were read around his granite eyes. He shed the emblems of his title when he could, for they reminded him that he was High-King only through the deaths of his brother and his father.

Surrounded by lilies and lupine blossoms, he knelt and studied them for a while. Although he and his folk had rebelled against the Válar, they had not entirely forsaken them, as was shown by the rain that came to bless the flowers that grew and bloomed.

Although Vàsa' rays did not illuminate the Hidden City, a band of pink, fresh and young, like the breath of color, was glowing in the sky, and slowly the rain was ceasing. Traces of her rosy hands were seen in the leaves of the trees, in the petals of the flowers, in the rain.

A blackbird warbled, his song clear and cool, and then his fellow answered, and soon the air was turbulent with song that welcomed that rising day.

Then another song rose, far more beautiful. It was a crystalline voice, its incomparable beauty accompanied by a harp.

Turgon's heart leaped for joy. He rose from the lilies and followed the song. A willow stretched its long branches, tenderly hiding Idril from the rain. She sat on the grass, her nimble fingers gliding over the strings of her harp. She sang a song that spoke of the beauty that Yavanna gave her entire kingdom. Her eyes were closed in raptured reverence, the golden river of her hair was stirred by a dawning breeze.

Turgon looked at his daughter with love, a creature to him delicate and strong, as she sang the songs Elenwë sang. His wife was no longer with him, but she had given him a treasure, that had made him stay.

He knew the song well, it was a common air in Tìrion. As she began to sing the last verse, he joined his voice with hers.

Idril opened her eyes, startled, for she had been so entranced by the music she had not noticed the approach of her father. When they had finished the song together, she sprang to her feet and embraced him.

" _Atar_ , it has been a long time since you sang with me."

Turgon smiled.

"It was your mother's most beloved song."

Idril's blue eyes searched his, and he knew he must look weary and sad.

"Yes. I know. That is why I sang it, for the morning was so fair it seemed to honor it, and my heart was rejoiced to see the peace here."

Turgon nodded, with the faint trace of a smile.

"That is so, Itarillë." He did not add any false assurances, she would see through them.

Idril smiled and looked at her harp. He knew that this was a gesture she made when seeking to express a request.

"What is it?" He asked affectionately.

Idril's face suddenly assumed an air of confidence.

" _Atar_ , I would see Hwa Young tonight."

"No. " he said instantly.

Idril looked at him, preparing to convince him.

"Why so, _Atar_? She has changed, or so the Lords say."

"We do not know that," Turgon answered, his voice sharper than he intended.

" _Atar_ ," she replied in a tone of sweet rebuke, reading the face he strove to keep impassive with ease. There was an arch challenge in her eyes, but even if the playfulness was stripped away, the challenge would remain. "You afraid that she might hurt me with her words. Her words may be sharp as swords, but I can keep the field against her. I will not let her mistreat me, I assure you. And, remember, the Lords have assured me she treats them kindly. Even Lord Duilin has made no complaint against her. Surely, that shows how great the change has been!" she finished with a laugh.

Turgon did not argue against the veracity of his daughter's reasoning. The Lord of the Swallow had no sympathy for Hwa Young, and the sentiment was mutually shared by the woman. But he still had his misgivings about the woman.

"Itarillë," he answered. "It may be true, but I will not allow my daughter to be insulted by a firíma."

There was an arch to her eyebrows.

"I am not a songbird, _Atar_ ," she said softly, but without bitterness. "To be locked in a cage."

"And a fledgling must learn to spread her wings," he agreed.

It was at times like these that his daughter recalled memories of his sister. Írissë was a lover of freedom, willful and proud. It was her willfulness that led her to travel to the sons of Fëanor, and it was her willfulness that led her death at the hands of her husband. She was the Daughter of the Hunt, wild, free-faring and brave.

Idril loved the song and the dance, a child of the Wind-Dancer, like her mother before her. She could wield a sword and defend herself, but her love was not in the chase but in the beauty of the arts.

However, one thing they shared, these twain, they were as rapier blades: slender and as hard to break. His Itarillë could fend for herself and was not afraid of the strange daughter of the Sun.

He saw the same indomitable will in her eyes and knew he would bend before it like he had bent to Írissë.

"Very well, my daughter. When will you see her?"

"This evening."

Turgon nodded slowly.

"I will notify the Lord who guards the cottage tonight."

"Thank you, _Atar_ ," said Idril. "I will leave you now, for Lord Duilin is coming to speak to you."

Turgon turned and saw the Swallow approached, with the quick, purposeful stride that defined him, reminiscent of the swift ferocity of the kite. His tawny hair was braided with white feathers: his armor was still on, for he had only finished his guard upon the Gates.

"Lord Duilin!" smiled Idril.

"My Lady Silverfoot," answered Duilin, bowing.

The Celebrindal smiled, took up her harp, and entered the palace, leaving the King and the Lord of the Swallow alone.

* * *

"Am I interrupting you, my King?" Duilin asked, standing at a respectful distance. Turgon was looking out towards the rising Sun in silence.

"How fast they grow!" he murmured after a moment, his voice melancholy. "And yet, they are as curious as if they were still children."

Duilin looked at his King in confusion.

"Itarillë desires to visit Hwa-Young this night," explained Turgon, turning around to Duilin. "She wishes to know how much she has changed, she wants to meet the woman who is kind."

"Ah." was all Duilin said. He was not overly fond of the woman.

There was a moment of silence.

"Are you going to give me your account?" Asked Turgon. His bearing changed, he was a King again, not a lonely father. Duilin answered promptly, relieved to change the subject.

"Yes, my Lord."

"What news has there been?" He asked, walking towards the Palace.

"There has not been any," Duilin replied. "Nothing has been seen in Tumladen, nor have there been traces of any unlawful creature."

"What of the Eagles?"

"They have not seen anything either, neither in the valley nor in the Echoriath."

"They continue with redoubled vigilance?"

"Yes, my Lord. Likewise, we also continue with the intensified surveillance. My archers have examined every grass blade in the Valley and have seen nothing."

King Turgon nodded slowly as they came to the Council Chamber. The walls of the room were of marble veined with blue, and there were tall slender pillars of alabaster that came together at the summit to form pointed arches.

"Then we are still safe."

"So it seems, my Lord."

The High King of the Noldor stopped in the middle of the council room, his gray eyes fixed on the marble table where the Lords of the Eleven Houses sat with him to make judgment.

"What House watches over Hwa Young's cottage this day?" He asked.

"In the morning or in the evening?"

"The evening."

"The House of the Tree, my Lord."

"I want you and your House to watch Hwa Young's cottage tonight."

Duilin said curiously,

"Of course. But may I venture a question and ask why? The Princess is safe with Lord Galdor, he is a fine warrior."

"I know he is," answered Turgon. "But you still have a certain distrust of the woman. This will allow you to be more alert. I do not want anything to happen to my Itarillë."

Duilin bowed, reluctant, but willing to obey.

"As you wish, my Lord. I will notify Lord Galdor of your orders."

"Have a blessed day, Lord Duilin."

"May it be the same for you, my King."

* * *

Duilin jogged down the Alley of Roses, his feet beating a quick staccato on the stone. He needed to choose ten guards from his House and then inform Galdor that he would relieve him this night. His rest for the day promised to be very short, guarding the Gates one night, ordering his House's affairs during the day, and then guarding Hwa Young the next night. What a cursed nuisance the woman was!

Even more, he did not relish the idea of spending more time with her in the slightest. Perhaps the relationship between him and Hwa-Young had improved, but he did not trust her. She was still insolent, and not overly burdened with manners, even if she was making an effort to be friendly.

But the King's orders were clear, if illogical to him, and even if he was not enthusiastic about fulfilling them, the thought of disobedience did not cross his mind: considering that the safety of the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin was at stake.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he did not discern a person in his path, leaning down to pick a half-blown bud from the border, until he had stumbled heavily, and heard a sharp squeal of surprise. Recovering his balance, he saw he had collided with a young Elf-maid. He found to his chagrin, he was blushing, as he helped her to her feet.

"A thousand pardons!" he faltered. "The blame is mine: I was so wrapped in my own thoughts that I did not see you."

She took the hand he extended and jumped to her feet. She was tall and slim. Her skin was fair, and her face shaped like a perfect oval. Two braids of jet-black hair that were now disarranged fell down her back. But the most striking of all her tender beauty were her eyes. Like all of the Noldor, they were gray, but they were so expressive that they shone like the stars.

She laughed easily.

"No need to apologize. All of us..." Her words were strangled in her throat as she recognized him. "Lord Duilin! "She gasped, seeing on his cloak the white-tipped head of an arrow in the background of a dark blue, the symbol of the House of Swallow. "Oh, my Lord! Forgive me! "She exclaimed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. " I should have watched myself, and not stopped in the middle of a busy street."

"There is nothing to forgive," he said. "I was the one who was foolish enough not to watch my surroundings." He paused. "I have to take my leave: my duties call me. May you have a blessed day. "

The maiden, who was likely as young as Glorfindel nodded briefly. Duilin bowed his head slightly in greeting and continued hurriedly.

 _'How beautiful are her eyes_!' said a voice inside his mind. He shook his head as if to rid himself of it, he had too many things to do to be thinking about trivialities.

The maiden watched him go. She had hit her head against his armor, she could feel it swelling. But worse than that was her humiliation. She could not believe that she had had such terrible luck and caused the brave Lord of the Swallow to stumble! How she wished she had never come here, or that the earth would have swallowed her up! Her shame was so great!

Something fluttered white, snagged on a rose bush. She turned her gaze down and took it from the thorns. It was a delicate white feather. She blushed again. Because of her, Lord Duilin had lost one of his adornments.

Without delay, she ran in the direction he had taken, but when she turned the corner from the Alley of Roses to the Road of the North Gate, she could not see him, even though the Elf-lord's bearing was not one that could go unnoticed.

She looked at the delicate feather in her hands and sighed. She hoped he did not realize that he had lost a feather before she could give it back to him. After all, it was known to all that although Lord Duilin was a gallant, brave, and loyal Lord, the fastest runner and the best archer in all Gondolin, he had a somewhat… quick temper.

* * *

That night, beneath the light of the full moon, and the stars that shone serenely in the celestial vault, two people walked.

One was tall and graceful, a creature that caused the stars to envy. Her dress was white as snow and girdled with silver, her face so fair and her golden hair so bright they seemed to say to the sun in the daytime and the moon at night: _'you need not shine since I am shining.'_ She walked unshod, and her feet seemed hardly to touch the ground.

By her side walked someone far different. She was shorter, and her bearing was not elegant, but purposeful and enigmatic. She wore black: her eyes were green and could be beautiful, but they did not shine like her companion, nor were they expressive, but instead cold and hard as emerald stone. Her face was masterful but ill-favored, her black hair long and soft. She wore boots, and her steps were audible in the silent street.

Those two were the Princess Idril Celebrindal, the Flower, and Pearl of Gondolin, one of the most beautiful Elf-ladies in Endor, so much so that Elves would bicker over the beauty of Idril Silverfoot and Lúthien the Nightingale; and Hwa Young, a daughter of Men, homely even among her own race.

The Princess had gone that night, accompanied by Lord Duilin and ten warriors of his House, to visit her. She had met Laura at the door of her cottage.

Upon seeing her, Laura had felt a strong sting twist her gut. She did not like the Celebrindal, because she was the embodiment of what she would never be. The Celebrindal was beautiful, ethereal, beloved by all, friendly and nice. While she was not beautiful. Nobody in their right mind would consider her beautiful; no one admired her and even less loved her. If they did admire her, it was for the skills she had, and even that was mixed with fear and contempt for what she was capable of and what she had; her temper was neither friendly nor pleasant, but arrogant and insolent. To see Idril was a blow in the stomach, and when she saw her, it took all her self-restraint not to slam the door in her face. She had nearly shown her dislike when the Celebrindal invited her to walk.

But she had not. She had made a decision, a decision for life, and just because she did not like Idril didn't mean she would disappoint Lord Glorfindel. Moreover, she was honest enough with herself realize and accept that Idril was not at fault. It was Laura's fault, unfortunately, this could not be changed, even if she apologized to the end of her days. She would never be accepted, unlike that divine creature.

However, even though she had decided to be nice to everyone, in order to make up for what Glorfindel had done for her, it was not easy for her and even though she tried, she could not start a conversation with the Princess.

* * *

They had walked for three hours, down the Road of Running Waters, where the fountains fell in a starlit spray of mists and shadows. Idril's light voice went merrily. She had asked several questions about Laura, but Laura had replied curtly, so Idril had changed tactics and instead spoke of herself and her enjoyments: of the birds, the song, the harp, the rain, the dance. Laura had listened carefully but had not been able to continue the conversation. She had made an effort, but the feeling of inferiority had prevented the conversation from continuing.

From a respectful distance, but close enough so that he could defend the Princess, Lord Duilin was walking, his hand upon the hilt of his sword and his eagle eyes never lost sight of either female.

The Celebrindal had was despairing of continuing the conversation: it was clear Hwa Young did not enjoy her company, so she would not force it on her any longer. However, she decided to make one more effort. She paused and turned her gaze to the sky.

"Which one do you love better, Hwa Young? The Moon or the stars?"

Laura blinked, surprised. She was not used to talking about herself. In the Facility what she thought or felt was something of no value and among the X-Men nobody cared in the least: she was the Ugly Duckling, segregated by appearances and past history. Also, by remaining close-lipped, no one knew about her, and she was safe from any future attack, emotional or physical. So, talking about herself was a challenge. She, the most feared assassin in the world; she, who could perform amazing feats; she, who could bear the most unimaginable tortures; she, who knew how to speak at ten languages; she, who understood technology; she, whose expertise covered several areas of human, could not even speak about herself for a moment, she thought, gritting her teeth in frustration.

"Um ... the Moon, I guess." she replied after a few moments, unsure of her words.

Idril said with a smile,

"Why?"

"Uh ... I do not know ... I guess, because of its brightness, or because of the stories about the Moon, or because I prefer the night ... I do not know." Laura answered, increasingly uncomfortable

The Princess nodded encouragingly.

"What stories?"

"Ah ... there are many," answered Laura evading Idril's gaze to hide her discomfort. But it didn't matter, she knew, the Princess would have noticed, after all, Idril was a very insightful _Quendë_.

"Could you tell me one?" Idril asked. Part of her enthusiasm was that she held a girlish love of stories, and another half was that she wished to make the woman talk.

Laura apprehended the purpose of the Princess. She did not like the idea in the least, it had been a long time since she had told a story; but she saw from the corner of her eye, Lord Duilin, who was staring at her, waiting for her reaction. She remembered Lord Glorfindel and what he had told the king. She drew a deep breath and began to narrate one of the many stories she knew.

* * *

"Um ... a long time ago, at the time when the gods used to walk in the world, the goddess _Coatlicue_ sweeping. As she swept, she saw a large feather on the ground, as white as snow." Laura began nervously. "The feather seemed so beautiful to the goddess that she decided to keep it, so she tucked it in her belt. When she finished sweeping the temple, she realized that she was pregnant. _Coatlicue_ was astonished. She couldn't understand how she could have gotten pregnant because she had not had intercourse with any god. Besides, she was extremely ashamed because she had always insisted that purity was the most important thing, it was something she had ordered her daughter, the Moon goddess, _Coyolxauhqui_ to observe, and here it is that now she was pregnant, and she did not know who the father was."

"She did not know who the father was!" exclaimed Idril, scandalized. Lord Duilin came nearer, but he remained silent.

"Well, it may be a lie, that's how it was," Laura answered, smiling when she saw the Princess' face. That was really amusing, to see the reaction of these Elven puritans.

"And what happened next?" inquired Idril eagerly.

"Oh, well ... when her daughter, the Moon goddess, _Coyolxauhqui_ , found out that her mother was pregnant and did not know who the baby's father was, she became enraged. How was it possible that her mother had committed such a degenerate act?! She, _Coyolxauhqui,_ had always kept her purity, and now her mother had turned out to be a ... woman who had no qualms whatsoever." she substituted that euphemism with what the story actually said: 'a harlot.' Who knew what the Princess's reaction would be? "The goddess _Coyolxauhqui_ summoned all the gods to accuse her mother _Coatlicue_ and to judge what was to be done. The sentence was death. _Coatlicue_ would be stoned."

Duilin came nearer, interested. The punishment was brutal. It was at this time, in all the old stories, that the helpless afflicted was rescued, and he savored that part: the battle, the escape.

"When the goddess _Coatlicue_ knew the verdict, she fled, because she would not allow them to kill her baby. Knowing this, _Coyolxauhqui_ and all her servants: the _Tzentzonahua_ , persecuted her. _Coatlicue_ hid in different places, but finally she had nowhere else to go. The goddess was distressed, but it was at that moment she was despairing when she clearly heard the voice of her unborn baby telling her,

 _'Do not worry, mother. I will save you.'_

"The goddess really did not know what to say or what to do other than to trust what her unborn baby had told her.

"Right at that moment, she was discovered by _Coyolxauhqui_ and her servants, the _Tzentzonahua_. The Moon goddess had dressed in her silver armor. Large quetzal feathers adorned her helmet; green jade covered her chest and back; her mantle was the skin of a brilliant serpent of a thousand colors was intertwined; her ankles sounded with silvery rattles, as did her wrists; her sword was turquoise and jade; her shield was silver strengthened with volcanic stones and adorned with the symbol of the feathered serpent. In her black eyes shone the fury and the terrible light that illuminates the eyes of a true and experienced warrior.

"The _Tzentzonahua_ wore brightly colored feathers and their bows and arrows were made of precious woods. White eagle feathers fletched them, and the tips of their arrows were of sharp turquoise. They shone ready to kill the helpless goddess _Coatlicue_." Laura paused dramatically, knowing she held her audience enraptured. By now, her face was lit with excitement, her green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and her lively gestures and changing tones of voice illustrated the story and gave life to it.

Seeing that for a moment Laura did not speak, Idril asked,

"And then? They attacked the goddess…"

" _Coatlicue_." Laura finished, smiling. "Yes, but they could not hurt her because at that moment _Huitzilopóchtli_ was born, the Sun god. He was the warrior god of excellence, the warrior who was never defeated! His appearance was terrifying and at the same time amazing! Everything was illuminated by a great glow. His armor was of gold, his helm adorned with the feathers of the eagle; his coat was the skin of the jaguar; his shield was obsidian, the same as his sword; his ankles and arms sounded with the rattle of golden bracelets. In his eyes shone a light so terrible that _Coyolxauhqui_ herself trembled.

"The _Tzentzonahua_ attacked _Huitzilopochtli_ , but the Sun-god of war easily overcame them and dismembered their huge army in such a way that he scattered them throughout the firmament in such a way that they could never be together!" Laura pointed towards the sky.

"The stars" Idril said in understanding.

Laura nodded enthusiastically and continued her story.

"Now the two siblings would have to fight: _Coyolxauhqui_ and _Huitzilopóchtli_. Anyone else would have decided to give up when seeing the power of the Sun God, but the Moon goddess was not someone who could easily be defeated. No, the goddess _Coyolxauhqui_ was an innate warrior, the most terrible among all the goddesses and she did not shy away from battle so easily. So, with an awful war cry, both gods attacked. The battle was terrible!" Cried Laura. "The mountains trembled, the rivers dried up, the earth cracked, the birds flew scared and the dogs howled! All Nature trembled in terror at the great duel between the Sun god and the Moon goddess!

"Finally, _Huitzilopóchtli_ defeated _Coyolxauhqui_. The goddess deserved death because she was a warrior defeated in battle; but _Huitzilopóchtli_ acknowledged that his sister had fought with honor, so he decided to spare her life. However, this didn't save _Coyolxauhqui_ from her punishment."

"What was her punishment?" Asked the Celebrindal breathlessly.

"Her punishment? Her punishment was that, instead of shining every night in all her splendor, reigning all the night, now she would only shine like that for only a few days. Then she would have to shrink until she was hidden completely, in memory of her defeat. Since then, every time the Moon is not seen it is because the goddess _Coyolxauhqui_ mourn for her former glory."

Laura turned her gaze to the Moon, and then looked at the princess. Idril was looking at her with amazement, and the Lord of the Swallow, beside the Princess, showed the same emotion as the Celebrindal.

Laura smiled again, true joy drawn on her thin lips. She had not told a story for so long! It felt so good! She had forgotten how much she liked to tell stories and how they moved her until she seemed to be in them, part of them.

"That is a strange story," said Idril. "I have never heard anything like it! Have you, Lord Duilin? "

Duilin flushed for the second time that day, to see he was standing beside the Princess. He cleared his throat.

"No, I have never, but is indeed a strange story."

Laura's smile faded until it disappeared.

"Yes, I suppose so," she murmured.

"Please, do not think that we did not enjoy your story!" Exclaimed Idril. At last, she had managed to make this strange woman show joy and life, and now the light that had illuminated her had disappeared again. "You are a wonderful story teller, in truth, you could be a bard!"

"Thanks," Laura murmured, but she only did it more out of courtesy than because she really believed the Princess' words.

Idril chose to leave then, knowing any further talk would be futile, but Laura spoke first. "Um ... Princess, I think you've already wasted too much time in my company and I need to rest. You see, the children of Men need to sleep every night." she added crossly.

"It's true, I had forgotten," answered Idril sweetly. "Let us go back, then."

* * *

 _Laura's POV_

 _I feel like a fool. In fact, I_ _ **AM**_ _a fool, an idiot, an imbecile! I'm getting soft! I've never been like this, never! And here I have shown myself up as an idiot in front of Idril and Duilin! Yes, right in front of Duilin, this had to happen! Damn you, Laura! Why! Apparently, I need to retrain as before, or I'll end like one of these Elves: all tenderness and openness. I'll never allow that._

 _First of all, because I've never been like that. I always hide who I really am, always hide what I feel and what I think. It's the barrier that has prevented me from being hurt. It is enough to know what people think of me. Second, I will never be accepted. If in my world I was never accepted in society: my only value was that I was the perfect assassin; there's no way I'll be accepted among the Elves. My tastes, ideas and way of thinking must be terrible for them. The truth is not surprising, everyone sees me the same way in either realm, only these Elves have a superiority complex added to that that makes them extra detestable._

 _I do not want to imagine what would happen if they knew who I really am, what I really can do and all my history. They would flee in horror, even Lord Glorfindel._

 _Damnit, NO! Laura, pay attention. Never show your emotions again. Walk carefully, because the first time you neglect to do so, everything you say, do and think, will be used against you. It always has been and always will be, after all ... what else can a woman like you can expect?_

* * *

Laura returned her features to an indifferent mask, obliterating any traces of joy and excitement from her eyes.

"May you have a blessed night, Hwa Young," the princess said softly at the door of her cottage.

"Likewise, Princess" she replied with cold courtesy.

Idril smiled slightly and left, followed by Lord Duilin who had muttered a similar farewell.

* * *

"Did you see how she transformed, Lord Duilin?" said Idril thoughtfully as they neared the palace.

Duilin nodded slowly.

"Yes, I did, Princess."

"Lord Glorfindel was right." she continued "Hwa Young is much more than meets the eye."

"Most likely, Princess."

Idril turned and stared at him. He read disapproval in her blue eyes.

"I do not know why you think differently, Lord Duilin. You were there and showed enough interest to approach. Surely that is proof enough."

Duilin sighed and answered,

"You speak the truth, Princess. Hwa Young is not who we thought she was."

The Celebrindal looked at him for a moment. She did not seem satisfied, but all she said was,

"Many thanks, Lord Duilin, for accompanying me. Have a blessed night."

"Have a blessed night, Princess," he answered, bowing his head.

* * *

When the Princess had disappeared, Duilin sprinted back to the cottage. He favored running over walking, it was too slow and tedious. The rushing wind seemed to race with him and clear his thoughts.

He had always had animosity towards Hwa Young, but he had been startled by the change. The story was certainly strange: it was untrue, that was not how the moon came to be, but it was the fault of men that they did not know the truth. What left him more astonished was the expression on the woman's face and in her eyes.

Maybe...maybe Lord Glorfindel was right. Perhaps he had hurried to judge her, and Hwa Young was much more than all the Elf-lords, the King and the Princess had believed at first.

* * *

 **So... we not only saw how Laura changed so drastically and showed her emotions for a moment; but now we saw that even an Elf-lord stumbles with the most unexpected person. In time this will be devoloped.**

 **By the way, the story that Laura tells the Celebrindal and Lord Duilin is a Mexican myth, to be exact: an aztec myth. That's why the names of the gods are so different, because they're in nahuatl.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	18. Night thoughts

**Hi guys!**

 **I'm sorry for the delay of this chapter. I've been kind of busy but at least! Here it is: chapter 18!**

 **Hope you enjoy it and thanks to all the reviews. They encourage me to keep going.**

 **Also, I want to thanks especially to Celridel for helping me in writting this story.**

 **Now... let's start with chapter 18!**

 **Oh! Before we start, I must say that finally the reader will know the lyric and the name of the song that Laura loves so much. Now, here we really go...!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 18: Night Thoughts**_

The Following Night:

Laura was studying the waning Moon: reminded that Coyolxauhqui's glory had once crowned every night. She was surrounded by her faithful soldiers, the Tzentzonahua: her retinue that adorned the sky so she might come with pomp and ceremony to her domain.

To her mind came the story she told the Celebrindal and Lord Duilin the night before. How much power must the Sun god Huitzilopochtli have had to have destroyed the army of the Moon Goddess with a single blow of his terrible mace, scattering them throughout the firmament so that they could never again band together against him? Yes, there were constellations in which stars were grouped together, but there were not many myths about constellations among the Aztecs. That was more common among the Mayans who had been lovers of the stars ... just as the Elves were.

Laura did not understand the attraction the stars exerted on the Elves. The Moon was much more beautiful to her. When she looked on its serene, pale face, she was reminded of the howls of the wolves she had heard on her mission. Enticed out into the forest by their cries, she had make friends with the pack. She would have liked to have stayed longer with them, but if she had, the Facility agents would have killed them. They had already done it with other innocent animals, whose only crime was befriending her. They had been her only friends besides Remmy.

The Facility always, invariably, snatched them in the cruelest way, to prevent her from making bonds with others. It was their way of making her cold, indifferent to what she felt and thought, being able to hurt herself: they had given her the bittersweet gift of loneliness. Yes, bittersweet, because over time she had become so accustomed to it that she preferred being alone over being in the company of others. And it was not difficult to achieve such a thing, her temper was very helpful in driving others away. And yet, it was still a thorn was always buried in her hear. She wanted to be always to be accepted by society, to be part of it ... what a philosophy book and a Shakespearean play could do!

Although Laura longed to be accepted and for society to forget her bitter and bloody past, such a thing could not be; there were times when she preferred to be alone, occupied in something that required extreme concentration. Previously, when she was at the Facility, they trained her by demanding more and more of her, or they tortured her, in order to teach how to bear pain. Among the X-Men, she used to train hours, and later, she had learned reading was an excellent way to occupy her analytical mind as well as continuing to learn.

But here? She had nothing to do. She did not know how to read _Tengwar_ , she did not have any place to train and she could not do it since her alibi was that of a normal woman. She had nothing, nothing except an Elf-Lord on which she could whet her calculating mind. He spent three nights a week talking with her in the garden, occasionally bickering and, of course, singing and playing on his harp. No doubt he was trying his best to help her: that was proven by his willingness to handle her temper and her lack of manners. She enjoyed bickering with him, and appreciated his company, but right now, she only wanted to be alone.

* * *

"Hwa Young."

Laura turned slowly to Glorfindel, who was watching her with impatience and discontent in his blue eyes.

"Hwa Young, what is it? Since I commenced describing the Valley of Tumladen you have been watching the Moon and the stars," he explained.

"So? Your point is? "She demanded sourly.

"You have not paid attention to me, which is not pleasant."

Laura tilted her head to the left and crossed her arms, raising her right eyebrow derisively.

"I have not paid attention to you, have I?" She repeated slowly, as if to a small child. "Let's see, your last words were these: _'the grass billows as a sea under the wind, rising and falling like waves. And in the middle of this flowering sea rises in incomparable beauty the Lily of the Vale, the City of Gondolin."_ she paused, and then added, between mockery and annoyance. "Happy, Lord Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel listened to her, unimpressed. He had had this trick repeated on him too often: Turgon would often recite his words back to him like a child who had learned his lesson by heart, while his mind was elsewhere. Princess Idril too had learned this from her father and would use it when she was preoccupied. He had always found it exceedingly unpleasant. Like them, Hwa Yong had repeated his words as he said them, with identical intonations, but her objective was far different from his.

"No. You heard me, Hwa Yong, but you did not listen to me."

She shrugged.

"So?"

Glorfindel knew that one of the things she was relished was bickering with him. Although it allowed her to know him, and he her, it was not the way he preferred. Although she lacked the finesse of Elven wit, she was clever and cunning, and her tongue was sharp.

Instead of succumbing to her ruse, he decided to understand what was behind her unpleasant demeanor. He had never ever seen her watching the night sky for so long with so thoughtful a face. Something was troubling her. Perhaps her deceased family, but something was wrong, and she was disguising it by provoking him.

"Hwa Young, what is it?" He asked, locking his gaze with hers.

"Again, the same question," she said, rolling her eyes. "Why can't I look somewhere else other than your pretty face, when I * _listen_ * to you, Lord Glorfindel? Or do you want me to be continuously admiring your blue eyes and blonde hair while pretending to listen to your description of Tumladen? Because if so, you are extremely presumptuous and vain. I may add that your features are not that unique: the Princess has eyes of the same color and blond hair. And believe me, I saw both of them last night for a long time."

Glorfindel's jaw tightened and his eyes sparked with anger, but he said calmly,

"So I heard." The Princess had sent for him to say that undoubtedly, he was right: Hwa Young was far more than what meets the eye. She had told him in broad strokes the story that told her of the Moon goddess Coyolxauhqui and the Sun god Huitzilopochtli, but she had placed the most importance on the change that had taken place in the woman when she told the story. Idril said she had been amazed at the joy and enthusiasm she had shown. Lord Duilin reluctantly supported the Princess's story, although adding that she had become as cold and hard after the Princess had remarked the tale she told was somewhat strange.

Glorfindel had begun to fit the pieces together, and he realized she had been thinking about what had happened the night before. It was essential to investigate what was troubling her again. If she kept entrapping her emotions, she would suffer more.

He had found long ago that what this strange daughter of Men wanted desperately was to be heard, to be understood, to be accepted, to remove all the pain that was in there, and this was hurting her more every time. But it was as if she did not understand this: she attacked and vituperated anyone who seemed to close to her. It was her way of protecting herself: a barrier to keep anyone from hurting her. That barrier, keeping all the pain and suffering, as well as her emotions, was no longer just to protect herself. It had become rooted in her life and had presumably almost completely destroyed all joy and kindness. He hoped that once he opened the wall, they would blossom little by little in answer to the light.

He would risk a great deal in trying to pry her open, like a clamshell on the shores of Nevrast, but he was willing to do it. He continued quietly.

" The Princess told me she had spent some hours with you last night. "

"Ah!" said Laura, looking back towards the sky.

Glorfindel continued. What he would say would displease her, but there was no other way of making her speak, so he could help her.

"Princess Idril also told me that you had told her and Lord Duilin a very interesting story about the Sun god and the Moon goddess. She said he had never heard such an interesting tale-"

"Strange." Laura interrupted. "That was the word she used?"

"Yes, it was," answered Glorfindel, his blue eyes fixed on her, searching in her mute language for the slightest sign.

Laura chuckled scornfully. "How interesting,"

"Interesting?" He inquired.

Laura finally took her gaze from the sky. Her face displayed a cold mockery, but her arms and legs were crossed tightly.

 _'She is in an attitude of rejection,'_ thought Glorfindel. _'To protect herself.'_

"She told me that the story was _'strange'_ , while she told you it was _'interesting'_ ," she said. "That is somewhat interesting, isn't it, Lord Glorfindel? The dear Princess Idril is either a liar or does not know how to talk to people."

Glorfindel crushed down the impulse to rise in indignation and censure the woman. Idril, the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin, the beautiful and tender creature ... liar?! No one had even dreamed of intimating such a thing. It was far better for Hwa Young that Turgon would never know of the slight, for the King was ruthless to anyone who dared to do the slightest damage to his daughter.

"I think your words are both harsh and false," he said, his voice cold and hard, but he did not leave, for she needed to continue speaking. "Think carefully, before you slander the Princess of Gondolin and the Noldor. She has always been kind to you, there is no reason for you to speak about her like that."

"Oh! Kind?" sneered Laura. "As far as I know-though of course, I am a simple _firíma_ with a severe lack of manners and maybe I misunderstood-she tells one of us the story is strange, but she tells her own race, when she wishes to look good and kind, that the story was interesting. I believe she is a false person, who does whatever suits her for the moment."

Glorfindel leaped to his feet, inclined to leave until she knew how to speak of the _Silverfoot_.

"Go away. Nobody is stopping you," she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.

He was sorely tempted to follow her advice, but he remembered he had set himself upon the purpose of helping and knowing her. If he did not want to retrace the path he had traveled with so much labor, he would have to endure it.

He sat down, holding her gaze all the while.

"Hwa Young," he said quietly. "Do not think that I will abide your lack of manners all the time. I stay here and do not answer you as you deserve-like one would answer a petulant, cruel and querulous child-because I wish to know you, and I am certain that the day I do, it will be a pleasant wonder. That is what I told the King. But my patience is not eternal and, although my wish is to help you, I will not allow you to disrespect my Princess, nor will I allow you to insult me at your whim. Everything has its bounds and I am willing to leave forever if you continue to subject Princess Idril to your contumely."

She stared at him silently, her features impassive. She was hiding again: thinking about what she said, but she did not want him to know, she did not want him to find a chink in her armor.

Then she got up and said,

"Fine. If you do not want to leave, I'll leave."

She went down the pathway, opened the door to her cottage, and was about to enter when she turned and said,

"See you never, Lord Glorfindel."

He was shocked. Why was she willing to do such harm to herself? Just as on the occasion when she had broken his harp, it had hurt her terribly; and yet, once again, she was willing to suffer the consequences. He knew she was not lying or trying to coerce him and challenge him to know if he really was willing to do what he had threatened. No, she was willing to leave without looking back.

He measured his chances quickly. Once she entered her cottage, she would never talk to him again, and would probably not even leave her cottage, except to go on the roof or in the gardens. She would mistreat all those who were forced to be with her again. Perhaps threatening her had not been the best of ideas. Not only had she felt threatened but offended and even betrayed.

This moment was crucial and for a reason that he himself did not understand, but would rejoice over in the future, stood up and exclaimed, frustrated and desperate,

"What is it, Hwa Young!"

"You already know the answer, Lord Glorfindel. Why do you ask the same stupid question?" She asked coldly." Did I not explain myself correctly? Or are you deaf?"

Lead by the knowledge that the tenuous friendship they had managed was at stake, he cried,

"That's not true, Hwa Young, you lie!"

Laura swung round, leaving the door ajar, and stalked towards him, her hands clenched into fists. She looked like a wounded beast that, uncaring over its wound, is ready to attack.

"You call me a liar, huh?" She snarled when she was a step away from him. "Liar?"

Glorfindel looked at her. He would not let her go, not as readily as that. Years later he would thank the Válar with all his fëa, that he had not surrendered, otherwise, he would never have found the greatest happiness an Elf could find: love.

"No," he answered quietly. "You are not a liar, you just hide what hurts you." He paused "Tell me, Hwa Young, what is hurting you?" His expressive eyes showed clear concern. "I know you do not trust me, you once told me: I do not enjoy your confidence in the least. And I know that you do not trust anyone. You consider that we have not done anything to earn it and maybe that is the way it is. But if you never give us the chance to win it, you will never have anyone to trust. Give me this opportunity and trust me, only once. Allow me to help you, maybe I cannot do anything but listen to you, but if I can help you with that ... I will do it gladly."

Laura stared at him blankly.

"Please," the Elf-lord finished, hoping with all his heart that those words would touch her.

She relaxed, and her fists opened. She turned and started walking slowly towards the cottage, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"You cannot help me, Lord Glorfindel." she answered in a dull voice. "Nobody can."

"Maybe," he replied, cutting in front of her path. "But at least tell me what is hurting you, let me hear you. This way neither of us can say that I never tried to help you that way."

Laura remained silent for a moment.

"It's nothing," she muttered. "It's not worth it."

Glorfindel studied her in the moonlight. She had shaken her hair over her face as if frightened that even her blank features could not hide what she felt.

"Hwa Young, look at me."

But Laura continued to stare at the ground. Glorfindel frowned; he knew that attitude would last only few scant seconds more before she would step aside and go back to the cottage to never leave again. His nimble mind tried to put pieces together: rejecting all of them, until one.

"It is the story."

Laura was arrested in her movement.

"The story of the Sun god and the Moon goddess is not it?" he asked. When he saw that there was no answer, he hurried to continue before the woman resumed her way.

"Hwa Young, when the Princess told you it was very strange, it was because she had never heard anything like it, not because they did not enjoy it," he said rebukingly. "She told me that was interesting and what she told me of the story, so it seemed to me as well. She described how you narrated it. She only said it was strange because she did not know how else to respond at the moment. You even caught the attention of Lord Duilin: do not think otherwise."

Laura laughed bitterly.

"Nobody likes what I like," she said, speaking to the flagstones. "My past has dyed even my tastes dark."

"I think you are wrong in both. The Princess and Lord Duilin were fascinated by your story and both enjoyed the manner in which you told it. Perhaps the word she used to describe it was not the most fitting, but her face indicated joy when she told it to me. What was more, she told me that I was right: you are more than what you seem to be. There is. There is a kind, good-hearted and grateful woman." He paused. "You can say that no one enjoys what you do, but that would be a lie. I like the song that is so precious to you, and that was how I contrived to see that there is more to you than you have shown us."

Laura lifted her face abruptly and fixed her green eyes, shining with illimitable gratitude, on his.

"I thought you had just learned it, so you could have something to do at night."

Glorfindel laughed.

"I admit that at the beginning that was the reason. But I was also looking for a way to make you smile, even for a moment. Later, when you started teaching me the notes and even more when you taught me the refrain, I fancied it so that I learned the refrain without knowing what it means. I learned it because I enjoy it and because I can sing with you "

Laura smiled slightly, a smile full of joy and gratitude. What her words did not say, her eyes and smile said a thousand times stronger. When she smiled, Glorfindel thought she was almost... comely.

He matched her smile. He had finally persuaded her to open for a few moments. He had managed to keep her from leaving that bench forever.

* * *

"Perhaps we could rehearse the song," he suggested after a few minutes.

Laura nodded, and they went back to the bench. Glorfindel took up his harp from where had left it, and began to play while she sang, accompanying her at the refrain.

When they finished there was a moment of silence, which Glorfindel broke.

"May I ask a question, Hwa Young?"

Laura nodded.

"What does the song say and what is it titled?"

Laura was silently thoughtful for a moment. Then she sighed and said,

"The song is called _'On horseback'_. The lyrics of the song goes:

' _I like beer and I like cheese,_

 _I like the smell of a western breeze,_

 _But what I like more than of all these,_

 _Is to be on horseback'_

"And the refrain goes,

' _Hey! And here we go,_

 _Through the grass, across the snow,_

 _Big brown beastie,_

 _Big brown face,_

 _I'd rather be with you than flying through space.'_

"The next stanza goes,

' _I like thunder and I like rain,_

 _And open fire and roaring flames,_

 _But if the thunder is in my brain,_

 _I like to be on horseback.'_

 _Some like the cities, some the noise,_

 _Some make chaos and other toys,_

 _But if I was to have the choice,_

 _I'd rather be on horseback'_

"And once the refrain is sung. The lyric of the next stanza is,

' _Some find strange to be here,_

 _On this small planet and who knows where,_

 _But when is strange and full of fear,_

 _Is nice to be on horseback._

 _Some are short and others tall,_

 _Some hit their heads against the wall,_

 _But it doesn't really matter at all,_

 _When you happen to be on horseback'_

"And again, is sung the refrain. The lyric of the last stanza goes,

' _So, if you feel a little gloom,_

 _To Hergest Ridge you should come,_

 _In summer, winter,_

 _Rain or Sun,_

 _It's good to be on horseback'_

And the refrain is sung twice at the end.'"

* * *

When Laura finished telling him the lyrics in Quenya, she watched him, waiting for his reaction.

Glorfindel frowned. The lyrics of the song did not make sense to him. He wondered for a moment if that was how all the songs were in North Korea. If so, he pitied them: they were unskilled in composing music.

"I do not understand," he finally said. "That is, I do not know the meaning of the words. What does it mean?"

Laura's face was darkened by a cloud of sadness and loneliness. She shook her head, her tears glimmering in her pale, black-fringed eyes.

"Even if I explained it to you, you would never understand it," she said in a subdued voice. She rose then, and went to her cottage, closing the door behind her.

Glorfindel watched her leave: struck by the tears in her eyes. But he knew that though she was iron, iron that was untempered was brittle: hard and cold, and in the end, breakable.

He stood up, his harp in his hands, and left towards the palace.

What had happened? She was hiding a mystery, that for her sake, had to be solved.

* * *

Upon the west wall of Gondolin, Lord Duilin sat, lost in his thoughts. The Moon was shining pale and bright, the night wind was whispering to him.

He relished the feel of the cool wind blowing softly on his face, a soft and lilting song.

The silence of the night was pulsing with the chirp of crickets, and the sweet twitter of nightingales. Occasional songs came, soft and sweet with the throbbing tones of the harp, raised as praise to the beauty of the Moon and the stars.

He heard a familiar tune, of how their forebears first saw the stars

 _"'Elé! Elé! They cried. Behold!_

 _And upward gazed into the night_

 _And saw jewels a hundredfold_

 _Glimmering in the soft twilight",_

And remembered the strange story Hwa Young had told.

Indeed, her people were ignorant. He had not dealt much with the Men but had heard tidings from Lord Finrod's host while in Nevrast that the Atani worshipped the Válar.

But the people of North Korea had not been so enlightened. Perhaps Men believed blindly, but to think that the Moon and the stars had come that way was laughable.

Hùrin and Hùor, the Lords of Dòr-Lomin had not been like this woman, nor believed in strange gods. Duilin had respected these brothers, strong, stalwart, clever.

Hùrin the Steadfast he had especially held in esteem. This man had great endurance of will, and of all Men of the North, he knew most of the counsels of the Noldor.

Turgon also had grown to love both them, but the brothers had at last returned to their kin. And not three years since they departed, this woman had come. Nothing about her inspired trust in Duilin's heart: neither her insolence nor her querulousness nor her sharp tongue. But the previous night had been different, perhaps enough to persuade him that Glorfindel had not lost his mind entirely. Perhaps, he had misjudged the _firíma_.

He shrugged, not overly unconcerned. Perhaps this development would make her stay here a little more bearable.

A soft pitter-patter, like the heartbeat of a sparrow, made him leap to his feet, drawing the small falchion he always kept in his belt.

It was neither an enemy nor a guard that had come upon him. It was an Elven-maid, tall and slender. Soft black hair fell in a torrent down her back, surrounding a face of tender beauty. But he recognized her eyes: bright eyes of dove feathers: a hue softly grey, like birds flying on sunlit days.

When she saw him draw the falchion, she jumped back with a short scream of surprise, raising her hands in surrender.

* * *

 **So, what happened to Laura tha she suddenly changed and almost cried in front Lord Glorfindel? What happened that she just left without a word? That will be known in the future, but first some interesting things will happen.**

 **As for the elleth that Lord Duilin threatened thinking that it was an enemy... who is she? Why did she go to see him?**

 **As always, waiting for your reviews guys!**

 **To the ones who doesn't know this song, I'll tell that indeed the name of the song is 'On horseback'. Is the last track of one album of the english musician: Mike Oldfield. The name of the album is 'Ommadawn'. And well... he wrote for a kind of... similar reason (so to speak) of Laura's liking.**


	19. Two forms of love

**Hi people!**

 **Though a little late but here are next two chapters!**

 **Until now, the story has focused mainly in the development of the relationship between Glorfindel and Laura, after all that's the main plot of this ff; but... they are not the only story that developed in those times when Gondolin was in safe and in peace. Now, we'll see which are these stories that will develop and how.**

 **As always I want to thanks Celridel for her wonderful help; but this time I also want to thanks the reviews of AvidReader and animal56. Your reviews are very important for this author and for this story.**

 **So, now... let's begin with chapter 19!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 19: Two Forms of Love**_

( _Elenya_ , Day of the Stars. _Úrimë_ {August}, Summer, First Age 463)

 _Elyéta's POV_

 _'I cannot stop thinking of the awful collision I had with Lord Duilin, and every time I remember it, I feel even more distressed. What was I thinking? Why would I even consider plucking flowers in the thick of a bustling street?_

 _How I wish I had never stopped. What is more, I preferred I had never gone there and had taken a different direction. But no! I had must needs take the path to the Lesser Market to pick a flower. Fortunately, my brother has heard nothing. I do not want to imagine the reproach that he would surely have told me. His reproaches sting because I love him so dearly: he is all I have._

 _If it had been any other inhabitant of Gondolin it would not have been so humiliating, but I was unlucky enough to stumble into Lord Duilin, the Lord of the House of the Swallow, the quickest in temper as he is the quicker in limb! Why not Lord Ecthelion or Lord Glorfindel, one for his gentle and wise character; while the other is known to be kind and light-hearted. Not for nothing does all Gondolin love and admire Lord Glorfindel. But no! It was Lord Duilin of course, as my luck ordained._

 _And... yet, there are times I do not feel the disgrace as I should. Now that I found his feather, I cannot help watching it sometimes. In truth, I made a sketch of it, and I intend to paint it. In the name of Vàna, it is so absurd! It is only a feather, a very pretty feather admittedly, but it's just that: a feather; which reminds me of that imbroglio._

 _I do not understand myself. Maybe I want to paint a picture of it because Lord Duilin was kind to me, although he should not have been. He apologized, although it was my fault, and helped me up. I think they are just foolish thoughts. Of course, Lord Duilin helped me up, as he would have done for any other. It is not for nothing he is Elf-lords._

 _Now, I must return the feather, in a way so that he does not get angry with me. I've been practicing a speech I wrote. I will tell him that he may not remember me, considering that he is so busy protecting our City, and I am not well-known in Gondolin, although I have a privileged position be one of the ladies of-waiting of our Princess. And then I will try to explain what happened, and how I tried to find him and return his feather but failed, and that I had no intention of keeping his feather; and finally, ask him to forgive me one more time for my ungainliness, and then leave... gracefully._

 _I've been practicing this conversation over and over with Ardyl, and whenever I feel discouraged over it, Ardyl never fails to make me smile with his chirping. Now that I am facing Lord Duilin, I will try to remember Ardyl. After all, it is said that the Elf-lord loves the wind. Ardyl is the same, he loves to fly through the palace gardens and then return and keep me company._

 _Ah! There he is! He is so graceful, more graceful than anyone I have ever seen. Oh, Elyéta! Concentrate! This is no time to be admiring anyone, this is a crucial moment in which you must remember what you are going to say, and ... Válar, have mercy on me and protect me from my own awkwardness! '_

* * *

Duilin lowered his weapon. He vaguely remembered the Elf-maid: her eyes were the ones that had attracted his attention. Yes, he remembered. A few days ago, he had collided with her on the Alley of Roses. He flushed at his clumsiness. He! The quickest of all the Elf-lords had stumbled upon an Elf-maid that he could easily have dodged. It was true that she was also to blame for standing in the middle of the street, but that did not excuse the fact that he had not noticed her. Most likely he had hurt her. To prevent the Elf-maid from seeing his blush, he turned his gaze to his belt as he sheathed his falchion.

Those seconds in which the Elf-lord sheathed his dagger, Elyéta took the liberty of observing him, and could not but think.

 _'How fair he is! His bearing is so graceful!'_

At that moment she realized that he was looking at her strangely, and had an eyebrow raised questioningly. She felt her face glow with embarrassment and instantly looked down at the stone under her feet.

' _Oh, Válar! I've been watching him like a fool!'_ she thought in distress _. 'Pay attention, Elyéta, do not be so clumsy! '_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Lord Duilin.

"Pardon me, but has something occurred?"

She looked up, suddenly mute when her eyes met the blue eyes of the Elf-Lord, who could not help thinking,

 _'Válar! What beautiful eyes she has! Never in my life have I seen eyes that shine so bright!'_

Elyéta cleared her throat, her voice stiff and strained, and her eyes carefully avoiding his face. Every time she saw him, it seemed that her tongue refused to move.

"Ah, good evening, my Lord Duilin... ah... I do not know if you remember that two days ago a ... small incident occurred. Um ... ah ... you had the misfortune… that is, I was in your way, and then you stumbled... and... well, it was my fault and well ..." she stuttered. Her heart was beating like the frantic pounding of a hummingbird's wings. Her hands were trembling, so she hid them behind her back, staring at the stone wall, and rocking back slightly on her heels. She looked like a child who just played a prank and is being scolded for it. "Ah ... well, it's my fault you lost this." she blurted and took a rosy silk scarf from her girdle. She unfolded it, revealing the white feather Duilin recognized instantly. "Believe me, my lord, I did not intend to keep it," she continued, her words tumbling from her mouth in a desperate hurry. "It is only that when I realized that it was my fault you had lost one ... ah ... I ran to give it to you, but I could not reach you." She laughed nervously. "Well, of course, you are the fastest Elf in Gondolin. Nobody can surpass you, not even the other Elf-lords, so ... what chance could an Elf-maid without any training stand?" She cleared her throat again, seeing that Duilin was looking at her in confusion. "Ah... in brief, I am returning your feather, and it was my fault you lost it. I am very sorry, and I ask you to forgive me, it was not my intention, believe me. I would have wanted to deliver it before, but I could not until now, please forgive me ... " she said, speaker even faster, and afraid the darkness could not hide her blushes. She was going to continue when she heard Lord Duilin say.

"It is all right. Thank you for returning my feather. Thank you-"

She glanced up and saw that he was holding out his hand. She stared at him for a moment, until Lord Duilin told her,

"Would you give it to me, please?"

Her cheeks burned.

"Yes! I apologize!" She held the feather out to him, and he took it, his hand brushing that of the maiden's.

A strange sensation seized him, a brilliant jolt and then a silence, as if the sea was rushing into his ears, time slowing, and slowing farther still, and finally stopping. He saw the maiden catch her breath, and then blush again. They stared at each other for a few seconds, still and silent and barely breathing. Finally, it was Lord Duilin shook his head, trying to get rid of that silence and strange feeling.

"I thank you once again for returning my feather," he said.

"Ah ... yes ... are you not angry with me?" She asked quickly.

"Not at all" he replied, his eyes sparkling. She was so shy and sweet, as if she was a girl.

"I ... I'm glad." she stuttered.

He did not answer. She thought she was intruding and yet could not move. A strange silence wrapped them back into a dream spell, catching them both off guard with its suddenness and intensity, as if they were underwater, the silence of the ocean in their ears. Unwillingly, she said, at last, forcing the words from her throat,

"I think I should go now. My brother will be waiting for me and I have many things to do. I have to finish painting a picture and play a song with my brother-he wrote it yesterday. I also must find some seeds for Ardyl and ... " she stopped at Duilin's smile. "I am so sorry! I'm rambling, now ... I'm leaving. May you have a blessed night, my Lord," she added with a bow.

"Have a blessed night," he answered, bowing his head.

She turned but had not taken two steps when Duilin's voice called her back.

"Pardon me, but I do not have the honor of knowing your name"

She blushed, twisting her hands behind her back.

"My name is Elyéta, my Lord," she replied timidly.

"It is an honor to meet you, Elyéta," he said with a smile. "Have a blessed night."

She swallowed and nodded several times.

"Thank you, my Lord. Have a blessed night." And she walked quickly away, almost running as she went down the stairs as if she wanted to flee from his presence.

* * *

 _Elyéta's POV_

 _'I am an utter fool! A fool, a simpleton...and ten hundred worse things as well! I wrote my speech down, I rehearsed it countless times and for all that... I stuttered and said nonsense! Oh, Elyéta! Just once! Just once, you could have done something right._

 _Fortunately, he understood what I wanted to tell him, and that was a miracle of the Válar. With my awkwardness and rambling, I do not think even my brother could have understood my babbling. And I had to talk about my painting and feeding Ardyl, too._

 _What interest would he have in what you have to do, Elyéta? He has his own concerns that are far more important than painting a picture. He is the Lord of the Swallow, a Chieftain of Gondolin! And yet you talked about your painting and Ardyl as if he would be interested in them. Maybe, even, I distracted or interrupted him. He cannot have very few leisure moments, and perhaps he was enjoying the night breeze for a brief time, and I interrupted him from his thoughts._

 _I was so awkward and so thoughtless, but at the least, I returned his feather to him, and… he was not displeased with me. So, I should be very happy that it Is over. I will not have to talk to him again or show myself off as a fool in front of him. Of course, he thinks I am that, after seeing me babbling._

 _And yet, I feel sad ... sad because I will not have any way to approach him again. The feeling... that sudden silence, it was like a dream, a dream we both shared, and I wish I had never woken up from it. It should not have happened, I should not have touched his hand, but we both made a mistake… that is, I made mistake. And now I cannot forget that feeling, or him, his proud demeanor, his beautiful hair braided with white feathers..._

 _No, I will forget it. He is an Elf-lord and I am merely a lady-in-waiting. He would never notice me, he would never notice me even assuming I got his attention; I would wager my right hand that he will not remember my name or who I am within a week._

 _Elyéta, be reasonable. Think about what your life really is! Your brother is waiting for me, and you have to hide this stroke of bad and yet good fortune for him'_

* * *

 _Lord Duilin's POV_

 _'What happened to me? Why did I ask her name? Why did I stare at her eyes like a fool? Assuredly, they are the most beautiful eyes I have seen in all my life. No maid, either in Válinor and Ennor, her eyes as bright and beautiful as hers. Ah! They look like two stars, illuminating her beautiful face!_

 _Válar, what is happening to me?! Why do I think that her words and her apologies were the sweetest ones I have ever heard? Her manner of speaking was awkward, she was very nervous, and yet ... she was so tender, so childishly sweet!_

 _I do not understand it. I grow irritated with people who ramble and babble nonsense like a brook, but she... she is so different! Although she did all those, I felt no impatience._

 _And that strange, enchanted silence? I felt it in my body and my fëa! Sweet Waters of Awakening, what was that? I cannot control it, and I do not like it. I was spellbound, staring at her like a fool like it was the first time I ever spoke with a maiden._

 _At the same time, I cannot forget those eyes, those stars that she possesses, that beautiful black hair falling, those flushed cheeks!_

 _Válar! What is happening to me? I am not like this! I do not let myself be influenced by something so simple, so trivial._

 _There is no reason for me to think of her: I care for the things that truly matter. She is certainly important, for she is under my protection, like all the inhabitants of Gondolin, like King Turgon, like the Celebrindal. Elyéta-no! This Elf-maid is another inhabitant of Gondolin and only that. And ... ah! Her beautiful eyes! No! I should not think of it in any way! No! Never!'_

* * *

Under the same starry sky, was Idril Celebrindal, deemed the dearest treasure of her people. Clad in flowing white, with a belt of silver flowers about her slender waist, she glowed like a fallen star in the moonlight. She sat at the foot of a winding marble staircase, playing the high-harp, but her sweet voice, more beautiful than pipe music, more entrancing than a harp, rang out.

The harp was her most beloved instrument and she played it with mastery, but singing was more to her. Songs were the cornerstone of all Eä, and she loved the power and beauty of the melody, and, save when Ecthelion sung, her songs were the sweetest.

She was lost in the music, so entranced that she did not notice the shadow under the spreading oak, watching her, following her slightest movement with avid eyes.

She finished her song: a song that spoke of the joy that Love brings, but also the strength, and when gifted with that strength, one could face the darkest dangers of Hell. It spoke of two lovers, who, thanks to their love, were able to face the trials that endangered their lives and even their love, where many times it seemed that they would never see each other again; but their love had been greater and had united them in such a way that the two, although they did not see each other, were one and fought as one. Because of this eternal love that withstood thousands of hardships, the lovers returned to each other's sides, to live in bliss.

When the last trembling note, fair as the clear ring of glass bells, was lost in the night air, a voice said,

"That is a fair song, and the singer is even fairer."

Idril looked round sharply and saw from the shadows her cousin came, dressed in black leather, the color of the night, and of his heart, she thought bitterly. His black eyes were shining, and he smiled at her, the smile that Idril despised, the smile of her pursuer.

* * *

 _Lord Maeglin's POV_

' _She is fair, so fair. The light of Vàsa, the Heart of Fire, breaks from her every glance. She cannot contain it, it lights her golden hair and white throat. Ah, slender silver-gold beauty, the soul of song and sunlight. She is a beacon of beauty, which draws me deeper, and yet gives me no welcome._

 _No, I am not worthy of her beauty, or her kind heart, but I love her, this jeweled light. Light...aye, always light, light that I love and fear, for Idril is glorious, a flame in which silver and gold together dance, like the great Trees my mother told me of once._

 _I fear the light: she fears the dark and the silence. So, she spurns me, drives me aside...and yet, hope is the last thing to die in the breasts of the Eldar._

 _If she loved me...what would I not do? If my heart's desire did come true if the torment was relieved by her love...But that is a dream, a distance starlit hope. I will be content to be by her side for now, and her luminance may drown my shadow. I would do anything to see her smile at me, to laugh. And one day, my cousin, Idril Celebrindal will be my wife, whatever the price, I will get it. But at this moment, I will beg her to allow me to be by her side tonight, this will be the first step I will take to achieve my goal: the Silverfoot will be my wife at all costs.'_

* * *

The Princess rose and took up her harp with a look of loathing.

The young Elf-Lord greeted her with a bow.

"Cousin."

"Maeglin," she answered coolly, bowing her head slightly in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard singing, Celebrindal, and was entranced. So, I came to find the singer, and here I have discovered that it is you, my cousin," he said, fixing his black eyes on the blue ones of her. "Song is a beautiful thing, and you are skilled in it. My ability lies not in such things, neither music nor dancing, it is forging and melding, rougher crafts, and yet I have made a gift for you." He held out his palm. In it lay a brooch of golden filigree, set with small glittering diamonds. "Please, I beg of you, my cousin, accept my gift. I know nothing that I fashion will match your loveliness, but at least let me give you something that tries, though coarsely, to equal your beauty, cousin."

Idril looked at the brooch. It was Lords a jewel of exquisite beauty, a jewel worthy of a Queen, a jewel that any Elf-maid would long to have and wear in her hair; but for her, it represented only another vain gift. What good was the gift if she did not even use them? The Celebrindal did not use nor want his presents, because of her cousin's dark heart and twisted love. Her father did not believe what she had said: Maeglin was hounding her, closer than her own shadow. So, her refusal was to protect herself.

He did not seem to understand her rejection, nor did he respect it. She did not wish to have any association with him: she would have preferred to deny her kinship with Maeglin, but that would have angered her father. Certainly, she knew of the difficult life Maeglin had led, and it was understandable that he would seek friendship, and she would have willingly been kind to him, but she had seen, since Aredhel's death, Maeglin did not desire friendship...he desired her, a lust that ran deeper than love.

"I appreciate your gift, Lord Maeglin, but I'm afraid I cannot accept it," she said quietly, emphasizing his title, and in this way, demonstrating that there was a great distance between her and him. Because they were kin, she would not leave him without deigning an answer.

"Why, Idril?" Maeglin asked, pain in his black eyes. "I know that it does not compare to your beauty, but it is the closest I have been able to create. In this craft, I have striven to put in it not only all the minute details that I have noticed in you, but also your perfect beauty and the love that I have for you."

"So that is the reason you have been hounding wherever I go?" she said coldly. "You must have fashioned hundreds of brooches like this: you have followed me often enough."

A pain slashed through Maeglin's heart, and a gleam flashed through his onyx, but it faded away to repressed adoration, and the Celebrindal read in them the twisted love that disgusted her.

"It is not my intention to anger you, Idril," he replied, quietly. "But you are beautiful, Idril, beautiful and brilliant. Like the sunflowers, that raise their heads to see the Sun, so, I am also, like one of them. You are my Sun, cousin, and my face, my eyes cannot ever turn away from you." he paused, taking a step towards her in appealing demeanor. "You know my life, it has been steeped in shadows since my birth under the trees, and even in Gondolin, remains cold and lonely. I am the Half-Noldo bastard, the Son of the Wife-Slayer, and few see me with kind eyes. If perhaps you, my beloved cousin, would allow me to enjoy the kindness you show to others! You are kind to others-beloved throughout the City for your goodness-but you disdain me."

"Maeglin, you are not treated coldly by all. My father sees you kindly, and of all in the Council you have the most influence," answered Idril, in turn taking a step backward. "Not even older and more experienced Lords, such as Lord Ecthelion, have as much sway over my father as you do. What is more, there are Lords who try to show you goodwill, as Lord Glorfindel, Lord Ecthelion, Lord Galdor, Lord Egalmoth and Lord Salgant."

"Certainly cousin; but you forget that Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion do it because they feel bound too," he replied bitterly.

"And what about Lord Galdor, Lord Egalmoth and, above all, Lord Salgant?" She retorted fiercely. "Perhaps you will also blame them for what happened, Maeglin? Perhaps you will also despise them? Let Lord Salgant hear you say so! He, who has so often faced the biting comments and gossip because of his friendship with you. Or perhaps, you do not consider him to be your friend. Perhaps you are the honest and grateful enough to realize that Lord Salgant truly appreciates you."

Lord Maeglin remained silent for a moment. It was true, the Lord of the House of the Harp held him in high esteem and still admired him. He was the only one of the eleven Lords who saw him without prejudice and had good will for him. In fact, Maeglin had benefited from that friendship many times, since he had been able to use since many times the young Elf-lord had used Lord Salgant's kindness to manipulate him for his own convenience. Maeglin did not always like to use Lord Salgant to achieve some goal, but his love for Idril had silenced his conscience. But, he did not consider Salgant as a friend. He was a means to be used. But that would not tell the Celebrindal because it was to give her a weapon, and he would lose an excellent card from his hand.

"Truth is beautiful, and as always, you speak the truth." he answered.

Idril gritted her teeth. Even when she reproached him, her cousin wooed her.

"However," Maeglin continued after a moment, "They are all male; none of them has the gentleness that a female has, or the kindness that only a female can show towards a poor bastard like me."

The Princess felt a shiver on her back. The black eyes of Lord Maeglin shone strangely, a fanatic gleam. And perhaps he was mad: perhaps his love-his _desire_ for her had pushed him to the brink. She shuddered. The desire that caused him to dog her over Gondolin. And when that did not work? Would it be to her chambers next? What would she do then?

"You do not need the company of a female to you feel comforted," she replied, taking two steps up the flight of stairs, and grasping the body of the harp, ready to use it as a weapon lest her cousin made any move towards her. "If, instead of being cold and bitter towards those with which you share the duty and privilege of protect our city; I assure you that you would not need female company." She paused. "Maeglin, I think you are looking for the company of the wrong person. I am certain that all the Lords would make an effort to befriend you, despite your temperament. However, you always isolate yourself, locking yourself in your forge without a care for..."

"That is a lie. I care for you!" Maeglin exclaimed angrily. "The kingdoms of the world do not weigh with me besides the hem of your dress, Idril! I would not look at a sunset if I could see you, I would not listen to a harp if I could hear you speak! Life without you means nothing to me!"

"If I am so dear to you, you will understand that I hate you hounding me across the city, and you would stop doing it!" cried Idril.

"Idril-"

Idril drew a deep breath, her voice suddenly stark and devoid of emotion.

"Do you not agree, cousin?" she interrupted, locking his passionate gaze with her icy one.

Lord Maeglin could not answer for a moment. The Celebrindal's gaze was as cold as the ice of the Helcaraxë itself, and her face, which was always lit with smiles, was as hard as mithril. Seeing that she had managed to silence him, Idril hurried heatedly.

"If you want to feel less alone, you should look for friends among the Lords. After all, you share mutual ties with them. If you want to be accepted, then be kinder to others. And if you want me to be kind with you, then STOP DOGGING ME! There is no child of Ennor, above all the _gentle_ females who enjoy being shadowed." she finished, irony in her voice.

Maeglin opened his mouth to rebut, but Idril did not let him speak.

"And although it may not seem like it, it _is_ ; regardless if the reason is to forge a brooch or simply to delight in someone's beauty. If you truly want to show your goodwill, why not forge a gift for Lord Salgant? His begetting day will be in a couple of weeks, it will surely give him great pleasure to receive a gift made by your own hands."

The young Lord of the House of the Mole bowed his face in utter shame. The words of the Princess were so hard and so painful that he could not answer. And even if he could have answered, he would never do it because he loved her ... no ... he adored her.

"Have a blessed night, cousin," she finished and went up the stairs with the grace that defined her, her delicate feet scarcely touching the steps.

When she was about to reach the end of the flight, she heard the voice of Lord Maeglin who was halfway up the stairs.

"Cousin, at least accept this my gift," he said in a voice full of unshed tears.

Idril looked at him coldly.

"No." she replied after a moment.

"Please, cousin, I beg you!" he begged, his eyes full of tears.

Idril studied him with scorn, and then took it.

"I warn you Lord Maeglin, do not expect to see me use the brooch," she said, "Because I will never use it for any reason."

"At least I have the small recompense that your beautiful hands have touched this small gift I made for you," he replied sadly.

The Princess nodded,

"Very well."

"Have a blessed night, my Princess," he said.

Upon hearing this, Idril flinched, and went silently into the palace, carrying in one delicate hand the beautiful diamond brooch. Seeing it glitter in the lantern light, she sighed impatiently. Another useless gift! If only he would understand that the best gift he could give her was to stop dogging her!

Lord Maeglin watched her go, his eyes blurred with tears. There was a rawness to his grief: his body shook, his face full of grief, loss, devastation. Then his eyes became colder, resumed their old repressed quiet, as another emotion was added: spite. Why was his beautiful cousin so cruel to him? Was it his fault for being the son of the Dark Elf? If it were, he would have preferred never to be born! But such a wish could not be fulfilled, and now, he had to face all the consequences that had brought such a miserable union between the Dark Elf Eöl and his beloved mother Aredhel. Ah! If his mother still be alive! Surely, she would plead for him in front of his beloved cousin.

Once again, he had been rejected and perhaps this time it had been the cruelest. But that did not matter, no, it did not matter. As in tempering the iron to forge the perfect sword, one had to have patience; so also, he would have the patience to earn his cousin's love and one day ... one day he would call her his.

* * *

Unknown to both, hidden among the shadows that a curtain created, a tall figure had seen and heard everything that had passed between the Princess and the Elf-lord. And when it saw that both the Flower of Gondolin and the Lord of the House of the Mole had departed, this figure withdrew soundlessly.

* * *

 **So... as the title of the chapter says: two forms of love. You know... Love not always is something good, and as example is the canon we all know: Maeglin's lustful 'love' for his cousin Idril; and this new one which is not canon but suits for the story. How will develop both? And who was the one who witnessed everything without being noticed?**

 **Though I know that it maybe sounds repetitive but, I'll say it again due its importance: waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	20. Power of music

**Hello people!**

 **So, here's the second chapter I promised. There are starting to develop a couple of different plots.**

 **First, the main one: the blooming relationship between Glorfindel and Laura; the second, the canon of Idril hating Maeglin; and the third and new one, Lord Duilin meeting again this elf-maid named Elyéta and the strange spell in which both fell. What will be the end of each one of these plots?**

 **Also there is the question of who is the person who witnessed unnoticed everything that transpired between Idril and Maeglin. In this chapter it'll be answered, as well as another plot will be added. In this chapter it'll be told a little more about Laura's past as well as Glorfindel's, and... something 'interesting' will happen between both.**

 **Waiting for your reviews and as always, I want to thank Celridel for her immense help.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 19: Power of Music**_

( _Menelya_ , Day of the Heavens. _Yavannië_ {September} _Yávië_ , Waning of Summer, First Age 463)

The past several days, Glorfindel had observed a change in Hwa Young. She seemed distracted, to a greater degree that he had ever before seen. Commonly, when he told her of the city or some small story of his past life, he sensed she was paying close attention, even if she showed no outward signs of it. But now, it was different. He had never seen her like this: she had lost interest in everything he told her, which had surprised but deeply hurt him. He had always made a great effort to stay with her, even when the situation merited his abrupt departure, and had striven to be kind in answer her sneers and ill manners. So, he did not understand the reason for this attitude.

Every morning, when he walked to the palace, after speaking with her all night, he returned in a thoughtful state of mind, trying to find the answer to her sudden change of attitude of the young woman, without finding any explanation that would satisfy his questions... until the night he got the answer he wanted.

* * *

After Laura had translated _'On Horseback'_ into Exicilix Quenya, Glorfindel had not brought his harp. Between his labor as a Lord, he was busy tuning and caring for it. He had rebuilt the harp after she had destroyed it, but because it was a new instrument, it was still temperamental under his hands, and he wanted its sound to be sweet and melodious now more than ever, for he desired to play her song in the most beautiful way he knew how.

Glorfindel did not understand the meaning of that song. The lyrics make no sense to him, but he realized that for her it was very special, and its meaning precious, to such a degree she had cried in front of him.

Strangely enough, the young woman had not asked him why he had not brought his harp with him, she did not seem to care, or if she did, she did not want to show it. She had always shown herself to be uninterested in other people and what other people thought of her, for the most part.

Finally, when his harp yielded a sound so harmonious that Ecthelion had congratulated him, and he had finished embellishing and gilding the body of his instrument, he took it once more to the cottage.

* * *

"The Noldor are the most skilled with metals, nigh as skilled as Aulë's children, the Naugrim," he said. "There are many skilled smiths and jewelers in Gondolin, not to speak of the Noldor architects."

There was a short silence. Beyond the cottage, he heard a verse praising the harvest Kementári had given them. A young male was singing, and he heard a maiden echo his voice on the last line.

 _"When summer birds take to wing_

 _Flying southwards there to sing_

 _Then my song shall rise to the sky_

 _And echo back from clouds so high_

 _A lullaby of rest and peace_

 _When plantings sleep and harvests cease."_

He stopped listening when she answered him.

"Like Lord Maeglin," Laura said without turning to see him. She was watching the hardy oak leaves that rustled, and beyond them, the evening that lengthened beneath the heel of _Menelvagor_ , the Swordsman in the Sky.

"Ah ... yes," Glorfindel answered uncomfortably. "He and all the House of which he is Lord: The House of the Mole are excellent architects and craftsmen."

"I guessed that. After all, Lord Maeglin's father, Eöl, was a genius in smithying."

Lord Glorfindel frowned. How did she know such a thing? As if Laura guessed his thoughts, she turned and added, "Lord Maeglin told me his sad story."

Glorfindel lifted his eyebrows in surprise, the Prince was neither friendly or well-known for his openness.

"There is no doubt that even among you there are Shakespearian tragedies." Laura chuckled derisively. "Even though, you are the Elves, the most 'pro' beings of all Ennor!"

Glorfindel ignored the last part. It was pointless to try and convince her of anything else. "Who or what is this Shakespearian?" he asked.

"Shakespearean refers to the dramas written by a genius named William Shakespeare."

Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask about this man; at last, he could learn about her realm without having to bicker with her for information. But Laura did not care to explain. Instead, she added quickly. "In short, what an interesting thing to know that you, the Noldor, are such incredible craftsmen."

"I'm not Noldo." he answered, "I am only half-Noldo."

Perhaps if he spoke a little about himself, she would explain to him about these Shakespeare dramas, but it seemed that Laura sensed his intentions because all she did was turn around and look at the vines that capriciously adorned her paling. This night, those vines were far more interesting than anything he said.

"Ah!"

Glorfindel ignored her studied indifference, and the jibe implied in her tone.

"I am half-Vanya. That is to say that in my blood runs the blood of the Fair Elves: the Vanyar. My mother was Vanya, my father was Noldo. That is how I learned to play, for although the Noldor prefer viols and like instruments, the Fair-Elves played harps."

"How interesting!" She answered, her voice heavy with irony, as she stared at the flowering vines, blossoming with orange and golden blossoms.

Glorfindel's jaw tensed. He had not spoken of his mother only to have her tossed aside, like her and her race was a worthless bauble. He would stay, but if she ever dared to insult his mother, he would leave forever. No friendship was worth the violation of Lairëa's memory.

"Hwa-Young, what is it?" He asked, trying to speak gently.

"What do you mean by: _'what is it'_?" She replied mimicking his voice.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, which did not go unnoticed by Laura who smirked.

 _'No, I'm not going to let you get it_ ,' he thought, and clinging to this thought, he answered in the calmest way feasible,

"I asked you," he said, mimicking her voice. " _'What is it_?', because I know that when something hurts you. You hide it by being on the offensive, bickering me and provoking me. But I want to help you. And the only true way I can help you, is not by bickering, because that will not take away your pain, it will only increase it." he paused. "Hwa-Young, what's wrong?" he asked, his blue eyes fixed on her, trying to find the slightest sign that would let him know what was happening inside that shell. "I know that most likely I do not yet have your confidence, that what I did two weeks ago is not enough to have earned it; but I do know one thing: I know you are suffering and I do not want you to suffer, I want to know you, I want to help you, I want ... I want you to be happy."

Laura turned, staring at him hard. Glorfindel did not see gratitude in them, but neither did he find rejection in them. He did not see happiness, but she was not angry either, the only thing he saw for a moment was a flicker of sadness, that disappeared as the night wind blows out a candle, but it was more than enough to confirm his suspicions. For a few minutes, she stared at him, her eyes impassive now. Finally, she returned her gaze to the vine.

He sighed in inward exasperation. He had nearly made her open! Taking up his harp, he began to play her song: maybe when she heard, she would change her attitude, but her reaction was entirely different.

"Stop playing that song," she said in a strained voice.

"But-" he began to protest, although now he knew what was disturbing her.

"Stop playing it. I will not repeat it again," she answered, her green eyes threatening him. They were rigid, cold, hard, narrowed like a viper who is ready to strike. Her attack was not a primary concern for Glorfindel. Although he had heard that some of the House of Hador had a strength that rivaled the Noldor's, he was certain that this woman had no training. The only thing he did was grasp his harp: he did not have the slightest intention of letting any damage be done to this one, now that he had just fine-tuned it.

"I do not understand why," he answered, playing a couple more notes. It was necessary to make her speak, even if he had to face her anger, the fury of a person wounded in the most intimate area, the fury of a person who seemed to fear nothing.

"Now!" shouted Laura, clenching one of her fists. Glorfindel prepared to dodge her attack, but the woman instead hit the bench with such force it made a crack in the wood.

Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow in cool astonishment. He would never have believed that the _firíma_ had such strength! Perhaps the strength that renowned Hador's descendants were not only among his children but in the inhabitants of North Korea.

"Hwa-Young," he said softly, trying to calm her.

She was panting with rage. He was reminded of a wildfire-he could all but see the green flames sparking in her eyes, ready to ignite anything that she came in contact with. If it were not for some strange feeling that forced her to stop, Laura would have rushed the Elf-lord and attacked him with her claws.

"Don't you dare play it again!" she said, clenching her teeth and leaning forward. "If you cannot understand what it means, you do not have the slightest right to play it, let alone sing it."

Glorfindel studied at her for a moment. No doubt he had infuriated her, but he was determined to still face a blow in order to reach the desired response.

"And how am I going to understand it if you do not explain to me?" He asked, leaning towards her. She sat up, her back as rigid as her features.

"As I told you that time: you would not understand, even if I explained it to you," she answered in a low voice.

"But at least I could try," he said in the same tone.

Her threatening attitude changed little by little until she was only tense, but in her eyes flickered a light of sadness that once again, only lasted a moment, but her body emanated sadness, that the Elf-lord, as perceptive as he was, immediately sensed.

 _'Something is hurting her for a long time and this song either remind her or relieves her.'_ he thought _'I have to know which of the two possibilities is the real one and why.'_

So, he stared at her, without moving, waiting to receive an answer patiently, something that did not go unnoticed by Laura.

"It's better that you never know," she said finally, her voice low and forced. "It is a weight that only I should carry."

"No," he replied, his posture showing goodwill and concern, his voice low as he looked her in the eyes. "It is not only you must carry it. I can help you."

Laura smiled, a smile full of pain. She looked at him and then said quietly.

"No, you cannot."

"Why?"

"Because I've shared it with other people, and all of them have fled from me. They've been horrified by my past and they've pushed me aside."

"I will not do it."

Laura raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"Aha," she answered. "An angel like you, in shining armor, loved by all? You? No, you would be the first to do it. The Sun cannot join the night, because they are the opposite. The Sun brings life, night brings death. No, you and I are totally different." she paused. "You cannot understand or help me, but you did, you would run away never to return; because for you to be able to stay, the only way is that you also have a dark past, as dark as mine. And nobody but a single person has been able to stay by my side once they knew." she finished in a muffled whisper.

Glorfindel looked intently at her face. Her eyes were glistening damply, and she had fixed her gaze on a distant point to prevent him from seeing it.

"Who was that person?" He asked after a moment

"His name was Remmy. He was from France," she answered. "He had a past as dark as mine, so when he knew how it had been before my life, he did not go away. In fact..." she chuckled melancholically, "In fact, he considered me his friend and did small things to make me smile, even for a moment. He called me _'Petite'_." A few of tears had rolled down Laura's cheeks. Her voice was no longer threatening, little by little it had become sad and dreamy. "But then ... we had to separate, and I never saw him again." She paused again, for a long time, and her eyes turned cold. "So, if he, who knew my past, which was echoed somewhat in his own, never dared to sing _'On Horseback'_ ... what gives you the right to sing it? You do not know my past. Your life has always been as bright as the Sun and golden like your hair! How dare you sing it without knowing its meaning!" She leveled a gaze with all the warmth of chipped ice at him.

"You are right: nothing gives me the right to sing or play it" he answered after a few moments. "But then ... why did you teach me it?"

"Because you said you liked it and because I thought ..." Laura stopped and again evaded his gaze.

"You thought I could understand it? That I could understand you?" he asked.

Laura did not answer, it was her silence that answered what Glorfindel was asking.

"No, I do not understand you yet, but I know that one day I will," he said gently.

Laura laughed bitterly.

"The first part is true, you do not understand me, but you never will."

"Do you think I'm as bright as gold and the Sun, Hwa-Young? I will show you that I am not," he answered. "I left my homeland, Válinor, under an oath of fealty to the High King of the Noldor. But I could have stayed. I could have tried to convince my parents to stay, but I did not and now ... now I have the wrath of the Válar over me." he paused. "I could have tried harder and maybe I could have saved Queen Elenwë. I could have done more, but now she is in the Hall of Mandos while King Turgon suffers the pain that half of his fëa is torn away from him."

Laura frowned slightly at this _. 'half of his fëa'_? It was probably an expression like the one used on Earth: 'your soulmate'.

"I could have saved my father in battle, but I did not and now both he and my mother are in the Hall." he continued, tears silently streaking down his face. "My mother faded for the grief and I lost my two parents. he paused again, trying to rein in his emotions. "I could have made a greater effort together with Lord Ecthelion and sought reinforcements to prevent the Lady Aredhel from being lost in Nan Elmoth,.. " He shook his head with a bitter smile. "I am not as bright as the Sun, nor is my past as gold as my hair."

"Apparently the says applies among Elves too. _'Not everything that glitters is gold'_ '." she murmured. Glorfindel turned to her. That was one of their proverbs. She did not scorn their culture as much as she professed too.

"True and wise words," he admitted. "But you can also say that _'not everything dull is worthless'_. Precious stones are often covered by stone and earth which, at first sight, do not seem to have a greater value, and which anybody would discard and put aside."

Laura slowly turned her gaze to him, her features and eyes blank. There was a long silence in which Glorfindel realized that this time the young woman would not explain or show what she was really thinking.

"I will not play or sing _'On Horseback'_." he said "I swear on my honor, Hwa-Young. You can trust my word."

"I know" she replied without looking at him. "I know," she repeated softly as if to herself.

He gazed at her, blue eyes shocked. Apparently, there were things he had achieved that he was not allowed to see for fear he would take exploit it. A sudden joy made him take a rash venture. He took up his harp and began to sing, nimble fingers finding the notes and setting the night dancing to their tune.

At first, she tensed and clenched her fists, but then they began to relax, and she began to smile, a smile of tranquility and enjoyment, closing her eyes.

 _"Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight_

 _The stars are stretching far as sight_

 _O, though time and world are in flight_

 _There is peace in the cradle of twilight._

 _Love and hope are always dear,_

 _Dearer when the twilight is near_

 _Silver and violet so dusky sweet_

 _Time when night and day do meet_

 _Stars are spinning, shining bright_

 _In the soft cradle of pale twilight_

 _Love and hope are always dear,_

 _Dearer when the twilight is near_

 _The gold fades, the silver grows_

 _An enchanted dusk over us flows_

 _A promise comes in twilight gray_

 _Hope shall not fail nor love decay._

 _Love and hope are always dear,_

 _Dearer when the twilight is near_

 _Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight_

 _When the stars stretch far as sight_

 _For love and hope are always dear_

 _Dearer still when twilight is near."_

When the last note was lost in the night air, Laura opened her eyes and fixed them on his. He smiled, glad to see her reaction.

"It is a song that my mother used to sing," he said by way of explanation.

Laura nodded slowly.

"It's very beautiful." she answered, lowering her gaze.

"That is true, but yours is no less beautiful. They're just ... different," he said, rightly guessing what she was thinking.

Upon hearing this, Laura looked up and looked at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Really?" She asked anxiously.

"Yes. Why do you think I liked it, Hwa-Young? I do not like uncouth music, and I would never play it, but _'On Horseback'_ is beautiful. Very different, but that does not detract from their merit or beauty."

Laura chuckled, trying to hide the tears of joy in her eyes.

"I'm glad you think so. That ... that means a lot to me." she murmured.

Glorfindel smiled.

"I thought that, if I learned to play _'On Horseback'_ , it would be fair for you to learn to play this song," he said.

"It seems fair," she agreed after a few moments

"I will seek to be a good teacher, I do not have the ability of Lord Ecthelion, but I will try. The harp is a difficult instrument to play."

"So, playing the harp is too difficult for a _firíma_ to learn?" she asked mockingly.

"I know that you are capable of learning. I saw you learn to speak our language without a teacher, but the art of music is completely different, as Lord Ecthelion would tell you."

"Yes, but Lord Ecthelion is not here. as he won't be my teacher" she replied.

Glorfindel frowned, not understanding what she meant.

"If it really is sooo complicated," she continued. "Then I propose a wager ... I bet you that I can learn to play it in the same period of time when you learned _'On Horseback'_."

Glorfindel hid his laughter.

"I'll wager you this: the one who loses cuts their hair."

Glorfindel stopped laughing. But what madness was she thinking?

"Very well." he said "I accept the wager. But, if you set those rules do not complain when the game goes against you."

Laura smiled grimly.

 _'Surely she thinks she will win_ ,' thought Glorfindel _'I am so sorry for her!'_

'"Deal?" Laura asked.

"Deal," he answered.

The woman offered her hand. Glorfindel looked at her and then the hand she offered him, and then slowly took it. Laura gave him a firm squeeze, and a wide smile appeared on her lips.

He smiled back at her, but he could not understand the strangle tingle he felt when he touched her hand. If Laura felt it too, it did not seem she gave it the slightest importance, so he also put it aside.

Seeing that the Elf-lord was still staring at her, Laura crossed her arms and tilted her head to the right.

"Alright, master ... what is lesson number one?"

* * *

Idril sat in an alcove adorned with autumn roses. The morning sunlight was spilling over to caress their crimson heads and her golden hair, as she read. The book was one of her favorites. It spoke about the different flowers and their origins, each different from the other, and was adorned with colorful and beautiful illustrations, drawn and hand-painted by of one of her ladies-in-waiting. Seeing a large orchid colored with delicate shades of pink and lilac, its green stem entangled capriciously with itself while several oblong glossy leaves adorned its base, she could not but think,

 _'Indeed, Elyéta is an excellent artist.'_

Her lady-of-waiting was young, shy and lived in the midst of her art. She did not usually deal with many people, her life was focused especially on serving Idril, being with her brother and painting. It was in that art that she was conspicuously good, and would spend days without stopping on her project, for Elyéta loved her work.

That was a characteristic that Idril liked in her young lady-in-waiting because, despite her youth and shyness, she was a wise maid and knew that all art is important in one way or another. Blessed would be the one who won Elyéta's heart!

Then, as she considered love, the Celebrindal could not help but sigh. Her young lady-in-waiting was not as beautiful as her, nor was she the daughter of the High King of the Noldor... but, she was not forced to deal with problems, principally one known as 'Lord Maeglin'. Sometimes the Princess thought that Elyéta was lucky, for her brother Linwe, was jealously protective of his little sister. Perhaps that would make it difficult for an ellon to get close to Elyéta, but Idril preferred that her father do such a thing, instead of ignoring her cousin's constant hounding.

She looked up quickly. A great bush, with flowers of white, obstructed her view, but she heard footsteps. A minute later, she relaxed, recognizing the firm, long stride of her father.

 _"Atar!"_ she exclaimed cheerfully, rising immediately to greet him.

He smiled at her, but his smile was different and the Celebrindal noticed it. Primarily when she saw him making a gesture to sit down again.

" _Atar_ , is something wrong?" she inquired in concern.

"I see you are reading," was his response "What is it?"

Idril showed him the book.

"Ah! About flowers!" he answered, suddenly melancholy, while before his agate-grey eyes appeared the image of Elenwë, laughing, amused at a gallant comment he made when she had offered him a blood-red flower. Elenwë had loved him with all her fëa, but she had not made the task of wooing her a simple task. No, the Elf-lady had judged wisely: instead of being swept off her feet at his chivalrous comments, she only laughed and teased him. But gradually, she had shown her favor as when she had given him that crimson blossom. In his ears again, the laughter of his beloved and deceased wife resounded, a sound which Turgon would have given all his wealth and perhaps even Gondolin, in exchange for it.

A crystalline voice drew him out of his sad reflections. The King turned to his daughter, meeting her concerned eyes. She knew he had been thinking of her mother, which made her sad because she realized that the pain of her losing her mother was intensified in her widowed father. Turgon looked at her for a moment and could not help but think that Idril looked very much like his wife, in wisdom and in beauty, and like Elenwë, she knew how to keep people who disliked her away from her, although her daughter, perhaps because of her youth, did not have the same tact that her mother has… or so he believed.

* * *

" _Atar_ , what's wrong?" repeated Idril.

The king returned the book while smiling at her melancholy.

"I remembered your mother, Itarillë," he murmured.

Idril thought that her father was going to add a comment, on what similarity there was between her and Elenwë, or he would begin one of the many stories that she never tired of hearing.

"You know Itarillë?" He began. "Now that I see you reading, a story that I read yesterday has come to my mind."

Idril looked at him while her blue eyes lit up with joy. Her father was skilled at telling stories and she loved to hear to them.

"Some time ago, in a beautiful city, there lived an Elven Lord and Lady." Turgon began. "This Lady was beautiful, the most beautiful creature anyone had ever seen, and the Lord did not lack grace and gallantry, though he was never as beautiful as the Lady who rivaled the Sun in splendor. The two were very different, different as day and night. Even in their dress they were contrary. The Lady used to dress in snowy dresses, while the Lord dressed in black, which gave him a gloomy appearance, in contrast to the city of light where he lived, and even more so with the beautiful lady he loved." He paused. Idril felt a nearly imperceptible chill run down her back, it was not necessary to be gifted with prescience to understand her father's tale. "The Lady was not only beautiful physically, but her heart was equally fair. Her kind temper made her loved and admired by everyone around her. Yes, with everyone she was friendly and offered her smiles, everyone, save this Lord. Strange enough, it was this Lord who showed her the most loyalty, kindness, and affection, more than all the inhabitants of the city. His affection for her could only be rivaled by that of this lady's father. But this elf-lady so beautiful, so sweet, so understanding and so kind to everyone else was cold and ruthless towards this Lord, whose only offense was to consider her beautiful, to love her as no one else did save her father, to be faithful though she spurned him again and again, both his person and his gifts that he made with his own hands. And I assure you that each of these gifts were worthy of any queen. Artanis herself would wonder at the clasp of gold and diamonds that Lord gave to that Lady and would accept it, although she might never wear it. But this beautiful lady, who was not known for her pride, like Finarfin's youngest child, not only never wore any of the many gifts the Lord made especially for her, sometimes she did not even accept them. Only occasionally did she take them for sheer pity to that Lord." he paused again. Idril shuddered slightly, it was clear that his father had been an invisible witness of the disturbance that had occurred two weeks ago. "I was pensive and perplexed as to why she would disdain the gifts he made with his hands, with long, toiling labor. Think of what it must have taken to attach each of those brilliant diamonds to that gold clasp. For me, there was no reason for this lady to be so cruel and ruthless towards this lord whose only crime had been to consider her beautiful and to have a great affection for her, the one he considered an anchor in the midst of his sad and difficult life."

King Turgon stared at his daughter, his steel eyes searching for the truth in the ones of his young daughter.

"Why do you mistreat your cousin, Itarillë?" he finally asked. "Why do you treat him as if he is your enemy?"

"I see you were present during our ... conversation that night" she replied, trying to maintain her composure. Perhaps this time she would be able to convince her father of what was happening "You heard it, _Atar_ , it's because he follows me all over the city as if he were my own shadow."

"And maybe that gives you the right to mistreat him?" He answered, clearly angered. "What is so wrong with him trying to spend some time alone with you?"

" _Atar_ , he does want to be alone with me, but not in that way..." she tried to explain, her natural delicacy restraining her from blurting out what she thought he truly wanted.

"So, what do you want, Itarillë?" "Pressed Turgon. "He is your cousin, he wishes to be with you."

"Yes, _Atar_ , but ..."

"Do you have any difficulty with your cousin wanting to be by your side?"

"He does not want to be by my side, _Atar_ , he wants to be ... he wants to be ON me!" Snapped the Princess.

For a moment the High King was speechless. His calm face suddenly changed, and his eyes glittered. Idril had never seen her father so enraged: her breath hitched in her chest, for in that flash of a moment she felt she had been pierced to the heart. It was a chill and hollow feeling. Turgon's anger struck with coiled and terrible precision, leaving the victim stunned and open to attack.

"How do you dare speak of your cousin like that!" he cried, angry with her for the first time in hundreds of years. "How! Do you know what the accusation you made against him means!"

"Yes, I know, and I do not retract my words!" she said, tears that she could not step running down her face. Her father's anger had only filled her cup of endurance to overflowing.

"How is it possible!" Exclaimed Turgon. "How is it possible that my daughter would dare make such a false accusation against her cousin!"

"It's not false, it's the truth, _Atar_!" She cried. "Ask any of the Elf-lords if it's true that Lord Maeglin is dogging me all over Gondolin. Many times, I have had to flee towards them so that he leaves me alone!

"If I remember correctly, Idril, he told you he was following you because it was his way of being inspired to make that beautiful brooch that, you do not have the kindness to use!"

The Princess laughed bitterly. How blind was her father, how far-sighted, that he could see so far and clearly, but his clear-sightedness failed to see that which was nearest to his heart.

"Be inspired by me? Do you believe such a lie, _Atar_! No, he does not pursue me for inspiration. No, he looks for me to get my favor and something more than that! I would not be surprised if one of these days I found him in my chambers when I'm alone. He is strong, _Atar_ , working the mines has made him very strong."

"Do not speak of your cousin like that!"

"Cousin!" she spat in fury. "He is not my cousin!"

Turgon looked down at her, grey eyes filled with rage.

"Do you forget that his mother was MY SISTER, your AUNT, Aredhel!"

"That does not mean I consider him my cousin," Idril answered coldly, in defiance of her father.

"I never thought I would hear such harshness and cruelty from my daughter." His sudden anger had gone like a thunder-clap but was replaced by icy coldness and a tone of profound disappointment that stabbed the Princess.

"Neither did I believe that my father was so blind, and would not defend me from my enemy," she answered quietly, trying to hide the blow his words had dealt her by returning it.

Turgon's eyes were wide. Never, even in his most terrible nightmares, had he ever imagined that his Itarillë would say such a thing. Idril closed her book and got up, her voice cool.

"It is obvious there is no use in continuing our argument. You will not defend me, so the only recourse I have is to defend myself by distancing Maeglin."

The King got up quickly. He was not just going to let her go. As a daughter, she must obey and listen to his voice, but the Celebrindal gave a quick side-step away, saying,

"I want to be alone."

And she disappeared, leaving Turgon, whose sudden desolation overrode his anger. He stumbled, tears trickling down his cheeks. For her part, Idril went straight to her chambers, ordered all her ladies-in-waiting to leave her alone that day. She sat down before her bureau, and after looking at herself for a few moments in the mirror, she burst into soft sobs in which anger, desolation, and disappointment were mingled.

* * *

"Loose!"

A flight of arrows shivered the cool, early-morning air. All those who wished to serve in one of the Eleven Houses or to be guards in the City had to train rigorously and must be skilled in all weapons. The training was challenging, intended to weed out the weak and half-hearted, although it would not as it was later under Laura's supervision.

He had commanded them to release their arrows instinctively: he could not see the training-his eyes were there, but his mind had flown to the person who had not left his thoughts for two weeks: Elyéta.

Impatient and upset at himself-he, who had scorned the sentimentalism displayed by lovers! But a brush of her hand was all it took: he had felt it in his very fëa, and now he could not erase her memory nor her clumsy, yet sweet apologies. Duilin had always prided himself on being able on being master of himself, to maintain control; and here an Elf-maid awkward in words, but beautiful in body and spirit had taken over his mind and had not left him while he was awake, much less when he slept. The few of times he had slept those two weeks had only been so that he could dream of that meeting, with perfect clarity. And it was this that made him ill-tempered, enough so that the other Lords, who knew him for his hot-headed disposition, had been surprised, although no one had dared to ask the reason. It was preferable to leave Lord Duilin with his own thoughts. If the proud and irritable Lord deemed he needed help or talk to someone, there they would be, principally Lord Egalmoth and Lord Penlod.

A voice interrupted him from his thoughts.

"Lord Duilin!"

Finally, the Lord of the Swallow turned slowly to his interlocutor: Lord Salgant. Unfortunately, the tasseled Lord of the Harp, just as he was one with weak convictions, also lacked insight, so he did not notice Duilin's strained face.

"Lord Duilin, is all well?" inquired Lord Salgant.

"Of course," he answered with a restrained smile.

Duilin's quick ears caught the sound of sprinting feet and saw Egalmoth and Penlod come running, trying to stop the unfortunate Lord of the Harp, who at that moment said, "I have noticed you do not seem very engrossed with the training of this company. Would you train with me?"

The dangerous smile Duilin gave him would have taken care of any reasonable being, but Salgant did not see this.

"Of course, Lord Salgant."

The other smiled and gestured for them to enter the courtyard, aside from the buttes.

Egalmoth and Penlod looked at each other. They had arrived too late.

"What? Did you stop him?" asked a loud voice.

Lord Rog was standing there, looking through the gateway into the courtyard, where the two Lords were preparing. Duilin's lean, hard form and his nimble moves were at odds with Salgant's heavy limbs and ungainly movements.

"I see not," he added, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. "I am sorry for Salgant."

Lord Egalmoth and Lord Penlod looked at him and then at each other.

"We are as well," answered the Lord of the House of Heavenly Arch.

* * *

 **So... seems that the relationship father-daughter between Turgon and Idril is not alway so perfect.**

 **As for the bet that Laura made with Lord Glorfindel...? What will be the result? And what was tingle that the Elf-lord felt when shaking her hand? Did Laura feel it, or she really ignored it?**

 **Seems that Lord Duilin has been kind of arrowed by Cupid, very much against his will. Will he be able to accept what is happening? Or will everybody will have to endure his ill-temper? How's going to end this duel between Lord Salgant and Lord Duilin... certainly not good considering the comments of Lord Rog and Lord Egalmoth, but... how will be this duel? After all, both opponents has the same odds in their respective abilities.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	21. Battle with swords and within hearts

**Hi world!**

 **Has been a while since the last uploading. I'm sorry for the delay but I've been kind of busy.**

 **Anyways, until now there have been a couple of different plots that have been developed during the story: Glorfindel/Laura's relationship; Lord Duilin/Elyéta's blooming relationship; the canon relationship Maeglin/Idril; and the heated argument between the Princess and her father. Now... we'll see what happens with two of them.**

 **Thanks for the reviews, though few, they're very helpful and encouraging. Ah! Don't worry user 'Elyéta'! You'll read more about the developing of the relationship between the Elf-lord and the elf-maid.**

 **Before starting, I want to invite the readers to leave their reviews as well as thanks Celridel for being a so great beta as well as give ideas.**

 **Now... let's start chapter 21!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 21: Battles with Swords and within Hearts**_

"We are as well," replied the Lord of the House of Heavenly Arch.

And it was not surprising that the three Elf-lords pitied Salgant. The Lord of the House of the Swallow was known for his marvelous agility and speed: known as the fleetest Elf of all Gondolin and, perhaps, among all the Noldor. His clear mind and quickness made him an opponent that was not only formidable, but dangerous when his blood was roused, and Duilin had been an ill temper for the past two weeks. It was clear to the three onlookers that his attack was as quick and hot as his temper.

Fortunately for Salgant, although he was not as excellent a warrior as Duilin was, despite being older and possessing more experience, he was strong. Although his strength did not match Lord Rog's, it easily surpassed that of Duilin's, and his movements, although not as fast, were fluid. However, soon it would be noted that this was not enough.

* * *

The two Lords unsheathed their swords and after saluting lightly with their weapons, put themselves on guard. As a rule, Duilin waited for his opponent to attack in order to observe him and know his weaknesses: it was a tactic he had learned from Lord Ecthelion. But this time was different.

No sooner had Salgant put himself on guard then Duilin attacked. The speed that distinguished the Swallow made him only a blur before Salgant's eyes. He leaped back, Duilin's blade passing inches from his chest.

Perhaps the Lord of the Harp was not outstanding in the art of sword-play, but he possessed enough equanimity to parry the hailstorm of blows raining down on him. Using his strength more than his skill, he forced Duilin to retreat, and with a sudden blow, almost disarmed the Swallow.

Seeing that Salgant was willing to use his force against him, Duilin took a leap backward and then he launched an attack. His legs opened wide as his armed arm extended, its tip threatening his opponent's chest.

The Lord of the House of the Harp fathomed the attack and instantly tried to stop the thrust, but his sword met the air, for, in the blink of an eye, Duilin crouched, then sprung, launching a terrible thrust at the tasseled Lord.

Salgant hardly had time to stop his enemy's attack. Their weapons were now locked together above his head, their faces a mere hairsbreadth apart. But that was not the intention of the Swallow. Before Salgant could react; Duilin slid his sword down his opponent's blade and tore Salgant's clothes along the left clavicle.

Salgant gave a short cry of disbelief: Duilin had wounded him. He looked into the other's eyes and saw a blazing fury in the pale blue.

The three onlookers had already hurried to where the duel was taking place. All knew that Duilin could at any time make a foolish act that would cost him dearly.

However, now Duilin was attacking with terrible agility. Although Salgant had a physical strength much greater than that of Duilin, it was utterly useless in the face of his lithe and ferocious attacks. Little by little, Duilin forced him to retreat, and a cold sweat covered Salgant's forehead. The look on Duilin's face could terrify even the bravest heart.

The Lord had received several thrusts that had ripped his rich clothes, but had they been deeper, would have gravely injured him. Finally, Duilin again lunged at him, with his blade angled at Salgant's chest. Salgant tried to stop him, already prepared in case his opponent feinted and attacked him from another angle; but what Duilin did left him stunned. Passing by him, Duilin threw three quick thrusts: one to the chest, another at the head and another, at the back. Salgant parried the first two but seeing he could not stop the third, turned quickly to face Duilin. But when he turned, Duilin pushed him, and Salgant stumbled and fell heavily upon his back. Although Salgant was well-nigh defeated, Duilin did not stop, instead, attacked him more savagely. Lord Salgant gasped at such ferocity: parrying only a few blows before Duilin disarmed him, twisting the other's wrist.

"You win, Lord Duilin!" He exclaimed.

But it seemed that he did not hear, or he did not want to hear, and it seemed he was ready to strike the killing blow when a scimitar intercepted Duilin's sword.

"Enough, Duilin!" Lord Egalmoth ordered. "You have won: cease this folly!"

Duilin did not answer. He stood looking at Salgant, as one would look at a groveling worm, and then spun upon Egalmoth. Egalmoth stopped his blows without trouble: he was much faster than Lord Salgant and had a greater presence of mind. But before Duilin could do aught else, two great arms surrounded him, entrapping his arms.

"Let me go!" He shouted in rage, trying in vain to free himself.

"No. Not until you calm yourself." Lord Rog answered coldly. Duilin's violent attempts were as a feather-brush for the mighty Noldo.

Egalmoth raised his curved sword to Duilin's throat, looking down the blade at his friend with steely eyes.

"Give me your sword, Duilin."

Duilin looked at him for a moment, his teeth clenched. He knew that he did not have the slightest chance of freeing himself; he knew that although Lord Egalmoth was of a mild nature and was his best friend, he would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to stop him; and there was also Lord Penlod who had helped Lord Salgant stand and had returned his sword. Finally, he released his blade. Egalmoth kicked it away, and then made a gesture to Rog, who released Duilin.

"Are you well, Lord Salgant?" asked Penlod quietly. The black and tasseled garb of the other was in tatters.

"Yes, Lord Penlod. You are very kind, unlike others," he replied, with a cold glare at Duilin, who only stared at him, and then left.

* * *

When he had gone, Egalmoth spun angrily on his friend.

"What were you thinking, Duilin!"

"He was not thinking," Rog replied, his deep voice heavy with irony.

"Look who is saying it!" Duilin jeered.

Rog frowned, a look of displeasure in his fierce brown eyes. He was not known for his tranquility, but he knew how to control himself, something brought on in part by age, for after Lord Ecthelion, he was the oldest and most experienced Lord.

"Be careful with your words, young one," he answered quietly.

Duilin looked at him, his eyes still bright from fury, but he did not answer. He knew what could happen if he dared to say one more word about it.

"Duilin, what is it?" Penlod asked at that moment. Among the three that surrounded him, he was the most peaceful. "You have foisted your ill manners upon us for two weeks, and now, you have hurt Lord Salgant. Certainly, you are quick-tempered and hot-headed, but you have never been violent before. What troubles you?"

Duilin met the expectant looks of the other Lords. He knew they would listen to him, and were willing to help, principally Penlod and Egalmoth, who were his dearest friends… but how could he tell them what was really troubling him? What would they think of him if they knew that a maiden had been consuming his mind for two weeks? They would mock him, moreover since he was known to mock sentimentality and now ... he was the victim of it! And what he needed least was derision. He looked at them for a minute, and then said dryly,

"My sword."

Egalmoth looked at him: waiting for an answer, not an order. But Lord Duilin did not care.

"My sword," he repeated.

Egalmoth knew his closest friend well and knew he was stubborn, and it was near impossible to change his mind. If he opposed Duilin, the only thing that would occur was a heated argument that could end poorly.

"Promise me that you will harm none, nor fight a duel," he said, locking Duilin's gaze. "Promise, Duilin, or I will take you, along with your sword to the King's presence so that you explain what has happened."

Duilin looked at him coldly. He hated to be threatened, but there was no other solution but to comply.

"Very well."

Egalmoth held out the sword, which Duilin snatched away, and sheathing it, left without a word.

"I have never seen Duilin like this," remarked Penlod after a moment of bewildered silence. "I never thought he would behave so violently in a friendly duel."

"For him, it was no longer friendly" answered Rog answered. "His temper clouded his mind."

"So it is." Egalmoth frowned. "I wonder what caused it."

He shared a glance with Penlod. Not one of them had the faintest notion.

* * *

 _Lord Duilin's POV_

' _In the name of Utumno, what is possessing me! Penlod was right: but he accused me as if_ I _were guilty._

 _The culprit is Salgant. Válar, he is blind and fickle, and now I have fought with him, I know he is not worthy to be a Lord!_

 _But... I fall into the same net as he does. My behavior was not lordly at all. If Turukanò hears of it, he will punish me like Glorfindel, and justly too._

 _Oh, Válar! What is happening to me? I feel that at any moment I will go mad! Every moment I see Elyéta and hear her voice. She is in my mind at all the time, and no one…nothing can rid me of her! I want her gone, but I want her here, with me. I am weak, weak and mad, so easily swayed that a pair of grey eyes and a head of black hair can turn me into this._

 _As much I want to see her, I will not. She was so ashamed when she was apologizing, seeing me will only make her remember it. What she does not realize is that for me that is was the most beautiful moment in my life!_

 _I am intoxicated… as if her voice were strong wine, so strong even the memory makes me giddy._

 _What is this? What am I doing here? Why did I come to the Alley of Roses? It makes no sense, it is the longest route to the Swallow-House._

 _Oh, Válar! She is here! It seems that everything is coming together against me to see her again._

 _Ah! How beautiful she is! I wish I could look at her forever, memorize every detail of her lovely face._

 _No, all my limbs refuse to listen to me when I say I will only pass her by. I want to talk to her but ... I do not know what to say! Oh, Válar! And now I am here… What do I do?'_

* * *

 _Elyéta's POV_

 _'Ah! I do not know what is happening to me! I cannot stop thinking of Lord Duilin. My first thought whenever I see the dawn is of him, and when the stars come out, it is still home. Whenever it is night, seem to see him once more in front of me, his graceful demeanor, his long hair braided with those feathers as white as his heart. I do not know why I think that when I know he has the reputation of being a quick temper. Maybe because he was so kind to me._

 _Oh! How I wish I could relive that moment I touched his hand! That great silence fretted with magic and beauty. Beautiful… oh yes, so beautiful! And I would give anything to have that again. But to him, I do not exist. I am only one more inhabitant of the city: he has forgotten me, forgotten my name. But I have not. I cannot, and I do not want to forget him! I know that he is a Lord and I am neither beautiful nor of illustrious or noble blood._

 _When I think of it, I feel so dejected, as if wistfulness and sadness are gnawing at my fëa. But I encourage myself and Ardyl is there, and his cheerful chirping brightens my day. He has stayed with me all the time I sketched that feather and painted it too._

 _I know it's foolish, and I am acting like a dreamer. Linwe told me I was humming while painting, and my face seemed to be in the middle of a sweet dream. Maybe it was true ... I do not remember it, what I do remember is that every brushstroke I gave when I was painting, was for me to remember the feeling I had when I looked at him and touched his hand._

 _Elyéta, look around you! Why are you in the Alley of Roses? This is the longest road to go to the palace! And it so busy! I do not like the hustle and bustle. I'm not used to socializing: although Linwe insists I need it._

 _Oh! Válar! He is here! Oh, why, why, why! Now he will think that I am following him! No, I have to go before... it's too late, he has seen me._

 _Oh, Válar! What do I do, what do I do?! Válar, help me! I must leave…but ... but I cannot! I cannot! My feet refuse to move! His blue eyes have mesmerized me, and his elegant demeanor has captivated me! What do I do? I do not want to seem like a fool again because surely that is the concept he has of me: a clumsy and senseless maid, who is not able to speak intelligibly._

 _Aì! He is approaching me! What do I do? What do I say? The only thing I can do is look at him! I feel so weak…!_

* * *

"Elyéta?" Duilin asked eagerly. How silver-sweet her name sounded! He darted a glance at her: her hair was dark, so her eyebrows, and the long lashes that curled up from her great grey eyes. With her skin as pale as cream, their duskiness took on an added beauty, and nothing could rob her face of its individuality and suggestion of charm.

She nodded, and swallowed several times, blushing.

"Yes, my lord. I am Elyéta. At your service." she said, dipping a small curtsey and keeping her eyes on the ground. Every time she met his gaze, she lost everything. All she could see was the blue, keen eyes.

"I am glad to see you again," he said without thinking. His words rushed from his heart and spent no time being weighed on the scale of his mind. He only spoke what his heart wanted to speak.

Elyéta raised her head sharply, her eyes shining.

 _'Ah! He remembers my name! And he said he was glad to see me again!'_ Elyéta thought excitedly, her heart beating with restless delight.

"I ... I ... likewise, my lord," she answered, stuttering.

There was a silence that hung between them. She was afraid of doing something foolish; he had no clue of what to say, but he was frantic to stay by her side.

 _'Oh, be merciful, Válar! What do I tell her? Will it be possible that I will not be able to look her in the eye and talk with her?! I longed to see her and now that I'm here with her ... I do not know what to tell her!'_ he thought angrily.

"It is a beautiful day." He broke the silence uncomfortably, as for the first time in his life, he did not know what to say.

"Oh, yes! Yes, it is," she answered without daring to add more. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, her hands were folded behind her back, and she began to rock slightly back and forth on her heels.

 _'Ah, what a dullard I am! As if she was the first maiden I've ever spoken with! And now ... now I've made her nervous! Oh, Valar! What do I do?!'_ he pleaded inwardly.

 _'I'm so clumsy!'_ Elyéta thought miserably. _'I do not know what to say. Surely, he must be thinking that I am a fool. I am only reaffirming the terrible impression he has of me! I must leave.'_

" I think I am interrupting you in your duties and making you waste your time. And well ... I think ... well ... I think ... well ... I should go," she said as a disquiet entered her heart. "May you have a blessed day, my lord, "she said as she bowed her head, so he would not see the sudden cloud of sadness in her eyes.

And she was leaving when Lord Duilin's voice stopped her.

"Ah… pardon my curiosity. Where are you are going… if it is not prying?" he asked, trying desperately to find a way to stop her from leaving.

Elyéta blushed and looked down again, folding her hand in front of her this time.

"I was going ... I was going to the palace, my lord. I must collect my painting supplies and take them back to my house… because the Princess asked her ladies-in-waiting to leave her alone today. And besides, I must feed Ardyl. He will surely miss me if I do not greet him and..." She stopped when she saw the Elf-lord smiling at her. "Oh! I am sorry! I'm rambling! That was not what you asked me!" Her cheeks burned, and her fingers clenched each other nervously. "Yes. I go to the palace."

"I ..." Lord Duilin cleared his throat before daring to ask the question. "Would you allow me to escort you?" His heart beating against his chest like a caged hawk.

"Ah ... where?" She asked.

He raised a surprised eyebrow.

"To the palace. You told me you were going to the palace "

Elyéta blushed further.

"Oh, yes! The palace!" she exclaimed, her tone vague as she met his eyes. _'Ah! How handsome he is! How noble and graceful!'_ She could not help but sigh inwardly.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, confused at her stare. Elyéta shook her head and quickly lowered her head as she began to rock back and forth on her heels.

"Then ..." Lord Duilin cleared his throat again. It was a way to give himself courage. "Would you allow me to escort you to the palace?"

Elyéta finally seemed to come out of her dreamy state.

"Um ... yes ... if you want to ..." she said, without moving until the Elf-lord told her,

"So, shall we go?"

"Ah ... yes ... we should go," she stammered and resumed her way to the palace.

* * *

Turgon gazed at the council-table thoughtfully, watching the silver snake its way through the blue marble, the table where he and his loyal Lords sat to make the decisions concerning the safety of Gondolin.

Each of them had a different temper, and he considered the variety excellent, for they complemented each other, and, in this way, they gave him different perspectives on a single situation, thus allowing him to make the most suitable decision. A mistaken choice could prove disastrous in dangerous days like these. But now, the problem that had arisen had not come from outside, but from within, from his own family.

The argument he had with his daughter, with his Itarillë, that morning, was still echoing in his ears, and the terrible words that his beloved daughter hurled at him: _'And I never believed that my father would not defend me from my enemy'_ , was for him more lacerating than any _**Orco**_ weapon, however, poisoned it might be. He would never have imagined that his beloved child, his dear Itarillë, would be able to say such words. He knew he had hurt her, he knew her well and he knew that when she wanted to be alone it was because something had greatly disturbed her.

Aye, he had been severe…but what else to do? He could not be lenient when she mistreated Maeglin such a way! Maeglin, the son of his sister, of gallant, daring Irissë.

No, it should not have been possible that Itarillë so mistreated Maeglin, and even less that she would raise such a falsehood against him. Maeglin had the desire to ... to ... to rape her?! That, at least, was not possible! That was against all the laws of the Eldar, that went against their nature. Maeglin was not able to do such a thing.

He had seen the argument that had happened that night between the cousins. Itarillë had been angry with Maeglin, had made him beg, beg her to accept the gift he had made. And as if that was not enough, she had rebuked, mistreated and humiliated him! That must be punished, but he loved his daughter desperately and wanted no breach in their relationship.

He had remembered the words of Itarillë. She told him that many times she had had to ask for help from the Elf-lords, flee to them so that Maeglin would leave her alone. If such a thing was true ... why had not his Lords told him so? He did not believe that his Itarillë was lying to him, but he must know the truth. And if it was true, why had not anyone told him anything? But ... whom to ask? All of them were wise in one way or another. Even Lord Duilin, despite his quick temper and rashness, was strategically wise and his advice was useful. However, this time he needed someone who was wise, experienced and who would not take sides, who was completely evenhanded.

There was only one: Lord Ecthelion. The Lord of the House of the Fountains was the oldest of all the Elf-lords, nearly the age of the King, and they had been companions before Turgon ever entered his birthright. His nature was peaceful and reflective, he always thought before acting. He had been the only one who had been able to maintain, from the beginning, an acceptable relationship with the _firíma_ they housed. Yes, Lord Ecthelion had been able to endure her mistreatment and even stop his friend from doing something foolish due to her jeers.

But there was Maeglin too. The Lord of the Mole had not only been able to have a passable relationship with Hwa-Young but had also been able to get into a conversation with her; something that the wise Lord of the Fountains had not achieved. That was part of the reason he thought Itarillë was wrong.

However, it was always wise to see other's perspectives, and the best choice was Ecthelion. Ah, if only Elenwë was with him! As the North Star guides the traveler at night so Elenwë was for Turgon ... his North Star, whom he swung too like a lodestone to the North. But since such a thing could not be, then he would seek the answer and perhaps counsel in his wise and faithful friend.

* * *

"You called for me, my lord?" said clear voice behind him.

The King, who was so immersed in his thoughts, had not noticed that the Lord of the House of the Fountains was there, standing behind him at a respectful distance. Turgon turned. "

That is so."

"How can I serve you, my Lord?" he asked, bowing.

Turgon studied him for a minute, measuring the Lord of the Fountains.

There was no doubt Ecthelion had the demeanor of an Elf-lord. He walked with his head erect and his step firm. His silver eyes were insightful and although he was not as sharp-eyed as Duilin, both wisdom and intelligence could be read in them. His manner of dueling illustrated his manner of thinking: before attacking, he measured the opponent, studied each movement, and looked for both the weak points and then strengths, and then attacked with quick precision. His patience was also evident in his love of one of the fine arts: Music. Before being the best lutist in Gondolin, he had practiced and studied for hours, until finally, he had achieved mastery playing not only the flute but also the harp and the lyre. Certainly, his innate ability had helped him, but it had been practicing until he was now considered outstanding in Music.

Truly, Ecthelion combined in his character the courage, strength, and strategy of a true warrior; with the patience, perception, kindness, and elegance of a one of high nobility.

* * *

"Today ... I talked at length with my daughter." Turgon began hesitatingly. "And it was a strange matter that emerged in the conversation she and I held."

Lord Ecthelion studied his King attentively, without understanding why he was told such a thing. The conversations held between the Princess and her father was no one's concern but theirs. But perhaps he needed advice. Raising a daughter was no easy task. Ecthelion hoped he had enough wisdom to be able to support his Lord in this delicate matter.

"She told me that her cousin, Lord Maeglin, follows her throughout the city, as if he were her own shadow," Turgon continued after a minute and fixed his eyes on Ecthelion, who instantly became vigilant. He knew the king's opinion of his nephew, and his response needed to be measured. "Is this true?"

"Yes, my King. At least that's what I've seen with my own eyes," he replied slowly. "I cannot speak for the other Lords," he added. It was better not to answer for everyone. Some of the Lords, such as Lord Rog and, above all, Lord Duilin, were not kind to Lord Maeglin; and taking the blame for others was not necessarily wise.

"And what do you do when Idril seeks your help? Or do you run to her aid?" Turgon asked, with a calculating look.

"No, she seeks our help. As for what we do, it is what the Princess asks us to do "

"Which is?"

"Let us accompany her somewhere, or escort her back to the palace. Usually, those are her orders," Ecthelion answered slowly: although his answer was not entirely true.

He and Glorfindel were the two people that the Celebrindal trusted the most after her father, and she asked these for help when the Mole hounded her. They had listened and tried to assuage her desperation and anger. Many times, Idril had told him with tears in her eyes how disturbed she was over her cousin; how angry that her father did nothing, and her explanations about what was truly happening had only brought down his ire on her head. Lord Ecthelion did not answer, just listened to her, which was really what the _Silverfoot_ needed; she did not need advice or consolation, she just needed who understood her, and she knew that the wise Lord of the House of the Fountains understood her completely, for nobody knew Lord Maeglin better than Ecthelion or Glorfindel himself. Of all known, they had been largely the reason why the Huntress Princess had been snared in the Dark Forest.

How many times Ecthelion had wished to tell Turgon what was happening! Perhaps when listening to another voice that confirmed what the Princess said, the King would finally understand. But ... he had been unable to for the Celebrindal had asked him not to tell her father: knowing that Ecthelion would be punished for daring to speak against Maeglin. Turgon as protected his daughter of any danger and even any word said against her, and he did the same but, to a greater extent, with Lord Maeglin. It was his way of redeeming himself, to love his sister's son.

"And has she ever told you why she asks for your help?" The King continued, his eyes measuring the responses of his loyal Elf-lord, seeking the truth in them.

Steeling himself, Ecthelion continued evenly.

"She tells us only that she wants Lord Maeglin to leave her alone."

"And has she told you why she thinks he's looking for her all the time?"

"No, my lord." Another lie. It was better to protect the Princess. If the king knew that his daughter had told Lord Glorfindel and himself, and perhaps another what she thought, surely the Celebrindal would find herself in a difficulty over even her golden head. As for them? Turgon would be unhappy because they listened to her, but nothing more. So, it was indispensable to protect the young Princess at all costs, even if it meant having to lie to his lord.

The king stared at the Lord of the Fountains for a long time, before asking the most dangerous question of all.

"And tell me, Lord Ecthelion, what do you think of my nephew?"

"That he is a Lord endowed with a great ability to forge metal like no one among all the Noldor. Despite his youth, he is very wise; is a brave warrior and worthy Lord of Gondolin."

Turgon raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he did not believe Ecthelion's answer.

"I already know that," he said dryly. "What I want to know is YOUR opinion, not what I already know about him."

Ecthelion flinched imperceptibly. Here it was, the brazen confrontation. There was no finesse he could use to get away from the question.

"Permission to speak freely, my lord," he said finally.

"Speak."

Ecthelion said nothing for a moment, mindful of his dangerous position, and then said at last.

"What I have said about him was something I truly believe. He is gifted in the things of Aulë, and I admire his skill. However, I also have to add that Lord Maeglin disdains us all. We try to approach him, we invite him to be one of us, and his response is always cold and abrupt. It is true that he follows the _Silverfoot_ as faithfully as her own shadow, nor do her requests for him to leave have any weight. He is wise for one so young, and once again, it is something I admire in him, but… my Lord, he has too much influence in the Council. His youth and inexperience could lead him to give unsound advice. I do not ask my Lord to listen solely to the other Elf-lords, but I certainly think that perhaps you should allow their advice to have the same weight as that of the Prince. It would allow you to reign ever wiser than you already govern. As for the situation raised by the Princess, if I am allowed to advise, I think it would be an excellent idea to talk to her and inquire more. If the Celebrindal says repeatedly that Lord Maeglin seeks her and follows her throughout Gondolin, there must be some reason. The old proverb holds true, my Lord: _'if the river sounds, it is because it carries water.'_ "

The King's face was a stone mask, but his words overflowed with great anger, so great that even Ecthelion, accustomed to his moods and power, stepped a pace back.

"How can you talk that way about my nephew!" he cried. "I am amazed at the freedom with which you slander Maeglin, my Lord Ecthelion! I decided to speak with you thinking that because of your wisdom is known to all, and your temper, you would be impartial ... and behold, I see that you still hold a hostility towards your Prince! " He paused, and shot the most terrible shaft, that shaft that had rankled in his heart and caused him to hold a silent grudge against Glorfindel and Ecthelion." Do you forget that it is because of you and Lord Glorfindel that my sister was lost? Do you forget that, because of your mistake, the Dark Elf Eöl seized my sister and that Lord Maeglin was born of that terrible union? Do you forget the sad state my nephew is living? You know well why he does not live here, in the palace, because in all the city there is gossip and calumnies spoken against him! Do not think I am ignorant of it! And now, I realize that you are one of them! That you also hate him, even though it was through you Maeglin was born! You should hold some responsibility to him: try to redeem yourself towards him and in that way expiate the sin you did towards his mother!"

"I acknowledge my mistake as to what happened to Princess Írissë," replied Ecthelion, struggling to handle the King's wrath. The accusations that Turgon raised against him, were so great and terrible he felt crushed under their weight. "But I am not part of the people who have given epithets to your nephew, my lord. Despite his sharpness, I try to show kindness to him."

"I know that my nephew is not the most vivacious person in Gondolin, but he certainly does not have ill manners. He has always been kind to me. Why then with you is not he?" Turgon replied darkly.

"If I may remind you, my lord, you are his uncle and in addition the king whom he serves. I would not be surprised in the least that he is kind to you"

The High King of the Noldor looked at him for a moment: a terrible light in his eyes. "How is that possible, Lord Ecthelion?" He said coldly.

"You asked me to tell the truth and I told it, my lord." the Lord of the Fountains answered calmly.

Turgon turned abruptly away from him, suffering from an emotion far deeper than he cared to acknowledge. He stared for a long time at the throne where he sat during each Council.

"You said that _'if the river sounds, it's because it carries water,'_ " he said after a few silent minutes. "And you are right." He turned to Ecthelion, regaining control of himself and announced with a forced decision and a studied coldness, which Ecthelion knew to be the cloak used to hide grief, fear, and anger. "Summon the Lords of Gondolin for a Council."

"Yes, my lord," Ecthelion replied, bowing.

Turgon's brief nod was enough to dismiss him.

* * *

Rog was intently watching the duel between Penlod and Egalmoth.

Once Duilin had left, Lord Penlod and Lord Egalmoth had decided to engage in a friendly duel. Whoever won in that contest, would fight against him.

It had been a few of hours since the two began. Both had great skill and speed and were evenly matched. Although Egalmoth's curved sword had confused Penlod in the beginning, Penlod was adaptable and had learned how to take advantage of it.

A calm, controlled voice made Rog turn.

"Ah! Ecthelion!" he exclaimed. "Are you coming to keep us company? "

"No," Ecthelion answered. "I came to tell you that the king has summoned us for a Council."

Rog frowned in surprise.

"Has something happened?" He asked. "Something threatens the city?"

"No" replied Lord Ecthelion, a glimmer of anger in his grey eyes. "He wishes to talk to us concerning the Prince."

Upon hearing this, Rog made a fleeting expression of displeasure. He was one of the Lord who most disliked the Lord of the House of Mole. And it was not because the young Lord had such an unkind and closed temperament, but he knew that the Mole was unreliable, and this was made manifest by the way he dogged the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin. There was only one reason why a male hounded a female, and it was by no means a noble thing.

"What of Lord Maeglin?" He asked after a moment.

"I do not know. Tell them that it is necessary that they go to the Council right now," Ecthelion added abruptly, clearly wishing to add the conversation. "Where is Duilin?"

"I do not know, but I have to warn you that he is not in a cheerful mood."

"I know. He has not been these last two weeks."

"It's true," Rog admitted, "But today he is in a worse mood than the other days. Lord Salgant can tell you."

"What happened?"

Rog laughed huskily.

"Let us be content with saying Duilin fought Salgant without a shred of mercy. You can guess the result."

Ecthelion nodded slowly.

"I will go and look for him: we must be gathered as soon as possible. The King is not cheerful either."

"I'll go look for him," broke in another voice.

Both Lords turned. It was Egalmoth.

"I'll go look for him," he repeated as he sheathed his curved sword, legendary among all the Noldor, for there was none like it.

Ecthelion nodded.

"I will search for Galdor and Salgant."

And without further ado, he turned around and walked quickly in search of the last two Lords.

* * *

 _Elyéta's POV_

 _'Oh! How can something be so wonderful and at the same time so sad? Lord Duilin is escorting me to the palace! This is something I never imagined. He remembers me, he remembers my name. He says he's happy to see me again and even offered to escort me. There is no word to describe how wonderful it is!_

 _But at the same time, it is so sad! We have walked to the palace and I have not been able to address a single word to each other! He was kind enough to accompany me, and I ... I am not able to be a good companion for him._

 _Oh! Elyéta! Sometimes you are not only more than clumsy... you are pathetic too! You are so childish, and now Lord Duilin will regret walking with you._

 _Ah! Why are you like that, Elyéta? Why are you so clumsy just when you should be lively, smiling and witty? How sad this is! He will never speak to me again, and even less, accompany me. Once again, his opinion about me as a mindless nissë has been proven!_

 _We have arrived at the palace! What do I tell him? What do I do?'_

* * *

 _Lord Duilin's POV_

 _'I hate myself! Yes, I hate myself! I have not been able to talk to her! I have not said a single word: a mute, mindless fool! I have always been agile in mind and word and now ... now that I must be is when I am not._

 _What will she think of me? Surely, she must think that, because I am a Lord, it is that I do not deign to speak with her. Surely, she thinks that I see her with scorn for being one of the common people... and nothing is further from my mind!_

 _For me, I do not care if she is not of the nobility. For me, Elyéta is different. She is beautiful both in mind and body; and I prefer a thousand times over to be in her company, then be with a high-ranking Lady._

 _That is why I offered to escort her to the palace, to be able to talk to her, but here I have not been able to open my mouth. The only thing I've been able to do is to admire her grace. She may not have the same level of grace as the Silverfoot, but undoubtedly Elyéta is graceful, elegant and beautiful._

 _I do not want her to think that I consider her below me, but ... I do not know what to say! Every time I see her beautiful eyes, I lose myself in them and forget all else! Válar! I even forget who I am! Now that we have arrived at the palace, I do not know what to say to her; I do not want to say farewell!_

* * *

Elyéta turned around, the hot blood blooming in her cheeks. She glanced out under her lashes at him, before crossing her hands under her back and rocking back and forth, an unmistakable sign she was nervous.

Lord Duilin returned her look. His blue eyes never tired of admiring her, he could have stayed there the rest of eternity.

 _'She is so beautiful! Yes, boast of your Finduilas and Lúthien and Idril… none are as beautiful as Elyéta!'_ Thought Lord Duilin, as his heart beat, but he found a sweet cadence there like never before.

"Thank you very much for escorting me," she said timidly. "It has been a great honor for me, that the Swallow would do such."

Duilin smiled.

"The honor has been mine, Elyéta," he said. Her name was so sweet: he loved being able to say it.

She blushed intensely and for the first time smiled at him, a timid, childish smile that sparkled in her eyes and danced around her mouth timidly. A smile that the Elf-lord loved, a smile that would never disappear from his mind and heart, even at the moment of his death.

They looked at each other in silence. It seemed that the world had slowly stopped until it froze at the moment they stood in, a moment that had become eternal.

' _He is so handsome and so generous and so brave!'_ Elyéta thought wistfully. _'You should not waste your time with me: I'm not worthy of your escort. You shouldn't even talk to me, for I am so awkward. But there is no one like you. No, there is no one in the whole world like you, my lord! '_

"Ah...maybe on some other occasion we can ... well… talk for a few moments", Duilin suggested hesitatingly.

Elyéta nodded several times and smiled eagerly.

"It would be an honor, my lord," she murmured.

The Elf-lord smiled and once again, both fell into that strange charm, the silence that drank away their voices in echoless repose, a dream-like silence, as the twilight grew above them.

Someone cleared his throat a few steps away from them, breaking the silence. Both turning sharply, seeing Lord Egalmoth, who was studying the architecture of a pillar.

Seeing this, Duilin could not help but blush, while Elyéta also blushed and looked down, catching a glimpse of Duilin's flushed face.

 _'Ah! He's adorable! '_ She thought, stifling a laugh at his confusion.

Egalmoth bowed to both.

"A thousand apologies for interrupting, but the King has summoned you, Lord Duilin, to a Council meeting

"Yes, yes ... ah ... have a blessed evening, my lords." Elyéta said, nodding nervously.

"May you have a blessed evening," Egalmoth replied, bowing his head in greeting.

Lord Duilin could not answer with words, but his involuntary and beautiful smile said it all. Elyéta bowed and walked away quickly.

Duilin watched her until she disappeared around a byway.

 _'How beautiful she is! '_

The voice of his best friend dragged him out of the dream.

"Duilin, we have to go. You will talk to her another day "

The quick-tempered Elf turned sharply upon Egalmoth, who looked at him meaningfully.

"Do not dare mention to any other!" he growled.

Egalmoth smiled, having no concerns over his friend's threatening tone.

"It's not going to be necessary for me to say it. You will say it yourself. Love is something that cannot be hidden, I tell you from experience." he answered. "Now, let's go, the king is waiting for us "

* * *

 **So... King Turgon pretends to find the truth of what his daughter told him about Maeglin. Will he find it? And in case that the Elf-lords tell him the truth... will he listen to them at least once? Or will happen like happened to Lord Ecthelion?**

 **And let's not forget that Lord Duilin and Elyéta. Seems that they're (or at least the Elf-lord) is falling in love... according to Lord Egalmoth. Is it true?**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys! They're quite important.**


	22. Wise counsels

**Hello guys!**

 **It had been a while since the last chapter but finally...! Here are two more!**

 **We'll see what does King Turgon want to say to his Elf-lords and the both couples of to-be-lovers.**

 **I want to thank Celridel for her immense help as well as I want to thank for the reviews, especially from AvidReader.**

 **And now... hope you enjoy it and of course, your reviews will be welcomed.**

* * *

 **Chapter 22: Wise Counsels**

By the time Lord Duilin and Lord Egalmoth reached the Council Room, all other Lords were present, save Lord Maeglin and the King.

Each had taken their respective place, and the room was full of murmurs, surmising why the King had summoned them to a Council so untimely.

* * *

"He wishes to talk to us concerning Lord Maeglin?" Galdor inquired, looking at Lord Ecthelion.

The Lord of the Fountains had told them in broad strokes what had occurred during his audience with the High King, before Lord Salgant, arrived, for it was well known that the Lord of the House of the Harp was a great admirer of Turgon's nephew.

Ecthelion cast a warning glance towards Salgant, who had entered, but Galdor's words were already spoken and the tasseled Lord had heard. Seeing this, Ecthelion answered deftly,

"It is likely, but I can say nothing with certainty."

Salgant raised an eyebrow. Both Ecthelion and quick-eyed Duilin noted this.

The young Swallow was tense, his senses as sharp as if was about to enter a confrontation. He disliked Maeglin the most, and his quick temper, combined with the realization of what had been happening and the King's impotence in that matter sparked his anger, as weakness always did. And, therefore, Lord Salgant was not one of his favorite companions either.

 _'If the king asks me about Lord Maeglin, I will defend him and plead for him_ ,' decided the Lord of the Harp resolutely, turning his gaze from silvered Ecthelion and glancing around the table at other, familiar faces.

"If this Council does centers on Maeglin-considering what the King said to you-we will not have many opportunities to speak," Glorfindel murmured to his dearest friend. "He already blames us for why his nephew is orphaned."

"It's because we are to blame for what happened, Glorfindel. Whether we like it or no, that makes it no less true," Ecthelion sighed, recalling the tragedy that had happened less the two centuries ago. "Our hand was played out well before this council."

"I give you that, but Lord Maeglin has not had such an unenviable life as the King chooses to believe," retorted Glorfindel, resentment latent in his voice. "And what _is_ unenviable is mostly of his own making."

The Lord of the Fountain shook his head in commiseration.

"If it does concern Maeglin, nothing good is to be expected," muttered Lord Rog. He was, besides Duilin, liked the young Prince the least. Being among the eldest of the Lords, it was sickening to him to see the Princess hounded by her own cousin.

"We can guarantee nothing," answered Penlod, trying to reassure Rog, although his own face was quietly troubled. "It may be something else altogether."

"Then why has not Maeglin arrived. He is always the first!" retorted Rog.

Galdor, ever the peace-keeper, answered in the soft voice peculiar to him. "Perhaps he is in his forge, and his work is too delicate to be interrupted. He spends many hours working there." The Lord of the House of the Tree did not like Lord Maeglin but made an effort to be friendly.

Duilin snorted.

"A long time in his forge?" he mocked. "I would rather say that a long time dogging the Celebrindal-"

An inconspicuous, although forceful nudge from Egalmoth arrested the hot-headed Elf's words.

Turgon entered the Council-Chamber, wearing all the regalia of Gondolin's High-King, no less a King than his father before him. He wore robes of white, belted with gold, and a crown of garnets glittered in his black hair. In his right hand, he held the Staff of Doom, and _Glamdring_ was in his belt, white and gold in its ruel-bone sheath. Rare was the warrior who could face the King. Indeed, a deadly Lord he looked, his slender height emphasized in his tense posture.

In his clear eyes was a keen light like the flash of lightning: his face was calm, but it was clear it was the façade of calm before the storm is unleashed.

* * *

 _ **Turgon's POV**_

 _'I cannot believe what Maeglin told me! And yet, I know that that is the truth: how can I but trust him? He is wise, despite his youth, and has a distaste for duplicity, like his mother. His loyalty to me and to this city is unwavering. Not even the Unnamed One himself would be able to break that loyalty towards Gondolin ... towards me! Maeglin would sooner die than betray us, and his wisdom exceeds the number of his years. Ah, I doubt if even little Itarillë is as wise as he!_

 _And now ... I see my Lords assembled, looking at me with questions in their eyes, and wish to answer their question by asking them one. Why would they treat the High-Prince so? These Lords who pride themselves on wisdom and skill cannot realize the truth._

 _Yet, I am a King. A just one? A wise one? That is yet to be seen. But I try to the utmost, and to be wise, I must know both sides of the conflict. That is what Elenwë taught me. She would listen to these Lords, despite her anger, and let them explain their mistakes. And they will.'_

* * *

As the High King entered the Council Room, the murmur died, as if he was the wind blowing the candle out.

As he moved towards his throne, all could see that by the brightness of his eyes and the rigid expression on his face, he was angered beyond reason. He sat, his eyes piercing their faces, searching their thoughts with meticulous precision. They returned his gaze, waiting for him to break the silence. Still, he drew it on, lingering on it, choosing words and watching reactions.

* * *

"As I said earlier to Lord Ecthelion," he began at last. "I talked at length with the Princess this morning, and I learned of a concern of hers, that also became mine, though for different reasons. "He paused." Is it then true? Has my daughter has asked for your aid because her cousin, my sister-son, hounds her?"

His gray, insightful eyes locked for a moment on each of the Lords, demanding an answer and challenging the silent that lay thick in the room. Turgon had already made his judgment beforehand. That was clear, as he spoke of Maeglin as his _sister-son_ , and the Lords knew it.

Rog spoke first: breaking the stillness with his deep voice.

"It is true, my Lord. The Princess has asked for my assistance several times."

"She has asked all of us," seconded Lord Penlod, precise and quiet, as in all matters of import.

"She did not ask me."

The owner of that unwelcome comment was Salgant, now the focus of all eyes. The High King pounced on him.

"Why is this?"

"I do not know, my lord," answered the Lord of the Harp sincerely. "The truth is that the Princess has never been kind enough to ask me to escort her, as it seems she has asked these Lords," he added with a certain bitterness. He felt shunned by the Celebrindal but did not realize was that the Princess was doing it because she knew the admiration he held for Lord Maeglin.

"That is, she does not ask for… help, even if my sister-son is with her?"

"No, my Lord."

Anger against Salgant lay overt in the eyes of the other Lords, and the King saw it. Salgant had answered with the words the King had wished to hear and discredited the other Lords by doing so.

"You say that my daughter runs towards you if Lord Maeglin is in the vicinity?" asked Turgon abruptly, his tone like one cajoling a small child towards the truth.

"It is the Princess who asks our help, my lord," Egalmoth replied, "And we obey."

"That is not what my sister's son told me, Lord Egalmoth," answered the King replied coldly.

A sharp intake of breath was heard. A lie! And how many had he told Turgon?

"What did Prince Maeglin say, my Lord?" asked Galdor. It was necessary to know as soon as possible in what territory they were, and whether they should meet the King on his own ground.

"The contrary, my Lord Galdor," he replied disdainfully. "He avows that you intrude whenever he tries to speak with his cousin."

"Such a thing has never happened, my lord!" cried Duilin, vainly trying to keep calm before the slander raised against them. "The Princess asked for help! He says he was talking to her, but, my King, let me differ with you. It is not true. Lord Maeglin hounds your daughter throughout the city, not giving her a moment's peace."

"It seems to me strange, Lord Duilin," Turgon answered. "My sister-son once again tells me the contrary. You interfere when he tries to strengthen the relationship between her and him."

Duilin opened his mouth to rebut the unjust accusation, but Turgon did not let him speak a word.

"Do not think I am ignorant of your aversion towards my nephew, Lord Duilin. I never speak to you concerning it, but I am well aware of your thoughts of him," he added, looking at each of the Lords in turn. "You are looking for some mistake, to show he carries the strain of the Dark Elf; but his mother was my sister, the High-Princess Aredhel, and her blood is stronger."

Upon hearing this, all Lords were outraged. Surely the King could not believe such things! Certainly, Lord Maeglin was the son of Princess Írissë, but that made him no higher or lower than any of them. What denigrated him in their eyes was how he relentlessly dogged his cousin.

"If may I allowed to speak, my lord," Lord Glorfindel, trying to still the hot blood shooting through his veins. "Perhaps Lord Maeglin forgot to mention that many times we have invited him to join us, but he has always denied us, in words that are not the epitome of courtesy."

"And why are you surprised that he behaves so, Lord Glorfindel? "Turgon demanded. "You and Lord Ecthelion are the reason why he was born in such sad circumstances, lived his first years in darkness; and as if that was not enough for you ... you condemn his ill manners?!" He finished in hardly-constrained fury "What you do is the least you can do for him! Do not forget the reason he is an orphan-because of your lack of prudence and of courage, my Lords."

There was a heavy silence. Lord Glorfindel clenched his teeth and Lord Ecthelion closed his fists until his knuckles were white, trying to contain the anger that had gripped him, as did his young friend. They had failed to protect Princess Aredhel, sister of King Turgon, but ... what could they have done? Aredhel and her companions were forced to go northward on being denied passage to Doriath, through the treacherous region of _Nan Dungortheb_ , where they were separated, in the dark shadows and preyed upon by the spawn of Ungoliant. And of all her companions, only Glorfindel and Ecthelion had returned to Gondolin, weary and wounded and heart-sick. Aredhel's death was not due to a lack of negligence, but because of dark dwimmercraft and pride.

"Perhaps Lord Maeglin shows a certain ... aversion towards Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion because of this, and perhaps he _is_ right." intervened Lord Galdor, trying to rid the uncomfortable silence out of sympathy for his suffering fellows. "But neither I nor Lord Penlod had ought to do with this matter and, still, we also are pushed aside. The fault may no longer be found wholly on our side: Lord Maeglin is not willing for our companionship."

"My sister-son does not desire the companionship of his fellows, Lord Galdor?" asked the King. His voice was cool and emotionless, save for a trace of irony. He turned on Lord Salgant. "And what of you, my Lord Salgant? I hear you have a good friendship with my nephew, is that not so?"

"No doubt, my lord," he replied, nodding his head.

"And how is it you have established relations, while the other Lords cannot…or will not?" Turgon asked.

It was evident to all his question was a trap: either to trammel Salgant in a lie or leave the other Lords defenseless. The ruse would use Salgant's response, so once again, Salgant became the cynosure of all eyes.

"I do not know, my lord. The truth is, though I admit that Prince Maeglin is not the most affable of Elves, he has an agreeable temper and not a few qualities that many of us would like to have," he ended, with a malicious glance at Lord Duilin, who cursed Salgant to the Void and beyond under his breath.

"And what qualities have you seen in my sister's son, Lord Salgant?" Asked the King, his eyes not on the interlocutor, but observing each of the Elf-lords.

"He is very wise, my Lord, and has equal skill forging and handling weapons. He is elegant, knowledgeable, brave, and an excellent warrior. At first glance, he appears to be taciturn and aloof, but once he is approached and shown sympathy, he is an excellent friend." Lord Salgant answered, not realizing that his clumsiness and blindness was bringing gathering woe to his companions.

"So, do you consider him your friend?" Turgon's voice was low.

"That is so, my lord. One whom I admire and love, and of whom I am proud to call my friend."

"Now, tell me, my Lords," said the High after a few moments. "How is it so that only one among the nine Lords can deal with him? Does it not seem strange to you?"

"Quite the contrary, my lord," said Lord Rog, in whom a flame of indignation was burning against Salgant, so he wished he had not interfered in the duel between him and Duilin. He was discrediting them before the king. "It does not seem strange at all. Maeglin chooses as friends only those he considers useful. Salgant is no more a friend to him than I am, but he is one who can be manipulated at will."

Lord Salgant paled before the accusation. A frisson of tension crackled in the room: the atmosphere was charged with amazement at Rog's mingled audacity and bravery.

"That is not true!" Salgant cried, bringing his hand down on the marble table. First, he had been defeated in the most humiliating way by Duilin, and now he was accused of being weak by Rog, in front of all the Lords and the king. "I thought you were too honorable to raise such calumnies against me, Lord Rog, but I see that is not true!"

There was a threatening light in the eyes of the Lord of the House of the Hammer of the Wrath. Salgant held his gaze for a moment and then dropped his eyes.

"So, why did you advocate Lord Maeglin in front of the Princess, when you know that the Princess does not want any meddling in her affairs?" Lord Penlod asked coldly. The Lord of the Two Houses would not stand by and let his dearest friend be insulted. "If I remember correctly," he continued, his manner chillingly precise. "She rebuked you for your imprudence and interference if I remember right."

The Lord of the House of the Harp blushed with shame and anger.

"Is this true?" Asked the King.

"That is so, my lord," Lord Penlod replied. It was necessary to undo the damage done as soon as possible "We have never meddled in this matter of the Princess in relation to Lord Maeglin. If we approach, it is because she expressly asks for it. That is not true of Lord Salgant. It is therefore not surprising, then, that the Celebrindal does not ask for assistance from Lord Salgant, for she knows that he would not help her and, on the contrary, would facilitate Lord Maeglin's companionship."

Turgon looked at the Lord of the House of the Harp, who could not answer because of the shame, the indignation, and the anger. Lord Salgant's answers had been disbanded with the timely intervention of Lord Penlod, but it happened just as Lord Ecthelion had foreseen from the beginning: the King had already made a choice.

"Do you try to shame Lord Salgant?" Said Turgon, addressing Penlod. "May more shame be brought to you, and your companions! You lash out at my sister's son: you who are older and supposed to have more wisdom, but all your prudence put together does not amount to that of my nephew's! With the exception of Lord Salgant, you spurn him and throw him aside. You believe that because you are older than him you have greater wisdom, but it has often been the advice of my nephew and not yours that has guided me. And, seemingly, such a thing does not please you, so you have taken it against him, eschewing him, reminding him without words of his past life. I cannot believe that such a thing exists in my Council!" he continued, raising his voice, his tone increasingly heated. "I cannot believe it, but I find I must! We are supposed to be of the same mind. And now it turns out that not only Lord Ecthelion, in whom I had placed my hopes of finding wise counsel; but all of you, with the sole and honorable exception of Lord Salgant, have failed me!" Hearing the way, the king referred to him, Lord Ecthelion cursed under his breath. The gentle Lord's cup of endurance had been filled to the brim. "And from what I see here, Lord Salgant has also been forced to endure your childish and envious behavior! Those who claim to be friendly," He said turning to Galdor, Egalmoth, and Penlod. "You are not friends, you are patronizing him out of compassion. Show true friendship and my sister's son will not react with disfavor! And those who are against him because my nephew's state is not the clearest ... " He looked towards Glorfindel and Ecthelion. "You, above all others, should be friendly with him, instead of allying against him. Recognize the qualities of Lord Maeglin, and if my daughter asks for help, make her understand that her cousin does not intend to harm her!"

"My lord," Glorfindel said, with an unrestrained leap of anger, though Ecthelion had made a discreet signal to keep quiet. "Allow me to explain what seems to have been misunderstood. We do not mistreat Lord Maeglin, and we are aware of our error and what it cost; but if the Princess, your daughter, runs to ask for our help ... is not honorable that as Lords sworn to protect the city, would protect the greatest treasure of Gondolin, that is Idril Silverfoot?"

"Do not excuse your conduct towards my nephew under that pretext, Lord Glorfindel," replied the King dryly. "You have certainly sworn eternal loyalty to this city, to me and to my daughter; but that does not give you the right to interfere in matters that are not your concern. Chiefly you, Lord Glorfindel. You are wise and valiant but are still young and lacking in experience. And not only do not think my words only apply to Lord Glorfindel," he continued. "I say it to others. Do not dare mistreat my nephew."

"Then what should we do if the Princess asks for our help, my Lord? "Lord Duilin asked, enraged to see that instead of protecting the Celebrindal, her father was turning against everyone, following the slanders that Lord Maeglin had told him "Shall we allow Lord Maeglin to hound the Flower of Gondolin, your daughter, though the city? Perhaps we should close our eyes to what could happen? Would that please you more? Is it no more prudent, my Lord, to listen to both sides: to take heed to what Princess Idril says. Truly the Lord of the House of the Mole is your nephew, but the Princess is your daughter, she is also your family and even closer. Listening to her would be the wisest."

Anger lit the eyes of the High King of the Noldor.

"Measure your words well, Lord Duilin," he said with a coldness that stressed the threat. "Remember to who you swore allegiance. I will ignore this kind of words, once."

The Lord of the House of the Swallow was tempted to leave. Rage was forcing its way: clawing and screaming. How was it possible that the king did not realize the immense danger his daughter was in? There was an onerous silence, during which Turgon seemed to calm himself and his voice and words were kinder.

"I know that this has not pleased you in the least: I see it clearly in your faces. Believe me when I say that I did not relish this either. I appreciate all of you; you are the most loyal Lords I have ever known but remember that the Enemy is very powerful and will do everything in his power to destroy us. A kingdom divided among itself falls soon. I do not want there to be divisions between us. It is true that everyone will make an enemy, but it is up to us to know how to forgive. This has been the only reason that has driven me to address this difficult issue. I do not wish there to be disagreements between you and Lord Maeglin. Certainly, my sister's son is a difficult companion, but no doubt you can make a greater effort to include him among you. I myself have told my daughter to treat him kindly. Now I ask you the same thing."

The Elf-lords, with the exception of Lord Salgant, answered in low voices, quivering with anger like plucked harp strings _: 'As you wish, my Lord, my King'_ , echoes filling the room, words that were only words, as meaningful as the wing-whisper of the moth save that they came from those he trusted most.

The High King looked at them for a moment. He knew that, although they were all angry and felt humiliated: they were all willing to die for him, for his daughter, for the City and its inhabitants. That's why he had been encouraged to reprimand them because he knew that none of them would turn their backs and betray him.

* * *

"I told you it was softer, Hwa-Young! Do you not understand?! Or are you deaf?" Lord Glorfindel cried furiously, bringing his hand down on the bench with a terrible force.

Laura stared at him, a dangerous light gathering in her green eyes. She was tired of her insults. It was the fifth time and for Laura, it was more than enough. If it had been another person, she would have answered with irony and aggressiveness; but it was Glorfindel. He had always behaved kindly with her, endured her insolence and ill-manners. It was true that he had said things that she did not like and, moreover, had angered her; but in the end, they had been for her sake. Sometimes, he did not understand what Laura was thinking and took false steps, but his good will and kindness were always present, and Laura could not deny that... even if she thought too.

* * *

 _ **Laura's POV**_

 _'I do not know what's wrong with this Elf-guy! From night to morning, he has suddenly acquired a demon-mood! knows what happened to him! And apparently, he was not the only one. Today the two Elf-lords who watch my cottage, friend Ecthelion, and Lord Rog were not in a good mood at all._

 _Rog is not surprising: he's a guy who has a fairly strong temper. In fact, I believe that the only one who beats it is Duilin. I can imagine the reason: Duilin is younger, or at least that's my hunch. The prudence to control oneself only comes with the experience of being older or ... of having been trained like me. But since the guy from the House of the Hammer of the Wrath was not trained by the Facility or by any similar organization, then only that possibility remains: he is older than Duilin._

 _As for friend Ecthelion ...? He does surprise me. That Elf-guy is very calm, kind and always does his best to be at peace with everyone, including me. I must give him credit for it: I am not a very nice person. But this morning, Ecthelion was in such a bad mood that he hardly greeted me. It was quite clever on his part: following the famous, and unfortunately often ignored, advice: If you have nothing good to say, don't say anything at all._

 _Lord Rog hardly even spoke to me. He was abrupt with me ... well, more abrupt than he usually is, but I got used to it. Not everyone will be like Glorfindel or Ecthelion or Egalmoth or Galdor. However, it catches my attention. The three Lords I've seen today are furious._

 _But the quarrel was not among them, no. When friend Ecthelion gave the surveillance of my cottage to Rog, I could see that they were angry and in a bad mood, but not at each other. The same happened with Glorfindel. The guy greeted Rog in a friendly manner, and in turn, Rog greeted Glorfindel, but all three are furious. And guess who has had to foot the bill for it? Laura Kinney!_

 _My guess is that the three were scolded. Maybe the good Turgon lectured them, maybe even punished them. The question is why; But even more important is ... what the hell do I have to do with the matter? Why did I have to pay for what Turgon lectured them about?_

 _It is true that I am not an angel, nor will I ever be, no matter how hard I try, but I also do not deserve to be treated this poorly, especially when I have tried long and hard to be nice to everyone, including Duilin. And c'mon ...! I'm talking about Duilin! The guy who is more temperamental than a girl with P.M.S.!_

 _This has been the fifth time that Glorfindel has shouted at me. Today he has behaved like a jerk and I am not a person who tolerates jerks. Everyone who has behaved like this to me has ended up in a bad situation. And I must add that I was tempted to do the same thing to him: treat him badly, bicker with him, or just leave and let him talk to himself. I do not have to put up with his bad mood._

 _But ... but I do not know what has stopped me. Now that I've seen him hit the bench, as I did a couple of weeks ago, I realize that he's really furious; but even being furious and not wanting to see me or the rest of the world, he came anyways give me my harp lesson. So, it's really admirable that he did it. Any other would have left me waiting, without even appearing or sending a message._

 _However, this elf-guy, Glorfindel, took the time to come here and not abjure his promise. Maybe the bet is what motivated him to come: I am sure even thinking about having to cut his pretty Rapunzel hair has terrified him. The fact that he has made an effort to come does not mean that he has been able to maintain his composure ... but hey, he is an Elf and what can be expected of the Elves? After all, they have a superiority complex so big they probably never believe they are wrong._

 _In any case, I had a great temptation to answer him as he deserves; or bicker with him or humiliate him. I know him enough to know where to attack, and at least hurt him for a while, but ... it's not fair. No, it's not fair and I would be very ungrateful if I did such a thing._

 _I know that I don't follow the idiom: If you have nothing good to say, don't say anything at all. I have never been very skilled with words unless it is for deceiving and achieving something. But in other ways, I'm awfully clumsy. I do not know how to console, I do not know how to give encouragement, I do not know how to make people laugh or at least make smile. It is so pathetic! I know many things much more complicated, things that are rare; but being empathic ...? I do not have that skill and most likely, no matter how hard I try will never have it. The same thing has always happened, every time I try to help by showing empathy, they all push me aside. And yet, even though I think this, and I get angry and sad at the same time, I cannot help but feel something for the good Elf-guy. I feel angry and offended, yes, but I also feel ... sadness and something like compassion._

 _I don't know, it's a pretty strange feeling. The point is, this strange feeling has made me stay, even though he is behaving like a real lout…..._

 _Now, he is being silent. All his presence radiates contained fury. It's a fact, he is making a super effort not to speak badly, but h's failed... well, he is an Elf and even Elves, however superior, are not immune to anger._

 _Although I know this ... I can't help thinking: how can I help? It's a fact that can't help through words: I'm clumsy and the only thing I would do would be to anger him more and we would argue, and we would fight. Maybe even the good relationship that we have, would disappear by a word badly said by me or him. Leaving him is to show a lot of ingratitude. Why? I do not know, but I guess because he has never left even though I often, with my 'ill-manners', as they call them, would have merited it. Then what do I do? I think there is no other recourse, and, in fact, I think it is the most appropriate and logical, to stay with him as long as he is here._

 _Remmy used to tell me to think about how I would like to be treated and treat others that way. If I was angry, I would like them to leave me alone and not talk to me, but Glorfindel is not one of those people. The good Glorfindel has delineated his priorities and will not fail in them, no matter how angry he is; but he is not perfect, and I am sure that the fact that nobody spoke to him, for him would be the best._

 _So, considering all this, I'll stay with him all night, accompanying him all the time he's here, without saying a word. I believe that's the best way to pay the debt for the immense good that he has done to me up to now, is to be ... empathic with him and try to understand him as best I can. Afterward I will see what is done in terms of reason and in the future if he will apologize, but for now ... what I will do is support him, even if it is only with my presence. If that means being empathetic, then I will be ... I'll be empathetic and try to understand Glorfindel.'_

* * *

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had repeatedly insulted Laura. He had called her _'clumsy'_ , _'firíma'_ , _'unable to do as she was told'_ among other things. But the only reaction she had given was to frown and close her fists, but she had not uttered a single word.

Finally, Glorfindel understood that if he kept trying to teach her, he would ruin all he had worked for. His insults were not worthy of an Elf, much less of an Elf-lord. But at the same time, he did not want to leave. He had made a vast effort to see the daughter of the Men and knew that she would not forgive him if he left. And at the same time, he knew that he could not continue teaching her without insulting her again. The best he could do was to keep quiet and calm himself... if he could.

What the king had told him-had opened a wound so tenuously closed. Even Lord Ecthelion had been furious, although he had not said a word about it because of his magnificent self-control, temper, and wisdom. But he was not the Lord of the Fountains, nor did he have his wisdom, nor his age, much less his temper.

The King broaching the terrible end of Princess Aredhel had reopened the wound that had barely closed. In truth, his words were a knife that had cut even deeper and longer, and his anger was the blood gushing ought.

Seeing that the Lord had turned and was watching a brilliant constellation, Laura quietly laid the harp on the grass, drew up her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around and them and then rested her chin on her knees. Her green eyes glanced furtively towards Lord Glorfindel who had not even realized what the young woman had done, and then she looked up at the sky full of stars.

And all that night, Laura did not move from her place, keeping him company without a word.

* * *

 _ **Elyéta's POV**_

 _'Oh! I feel so sad and disappointed in myself! I was so ungainly... I was mute. And yet... and yet, he did me the honor of escorting me to the palace. And he was so chivalrous with me. He even said that one day we could talk. Is he giving me a chance? Or is it simply out of kindness and pity? He has to think that I am clumsy, that I do not know how to talk and when I do I am ramble and babble like a fool._

 _I have felt so sad, but at the same time have such a great desire to correct my mistake that I have decided to give him the picture I made of his feather. Yes, I know that it is ridiculous, and he will not like it... he may not even pay attention to it. But I would like him to see that although I did not speak to him, it was not because I did not want to talk to him. I would like him to forgive me. Maybe one day we could truly talk and spend time together. I know I do not have the slightest chance of being noticed… but, he was happy to see me again._

 _I have framed the painting as beautifully as I could and used the sigil of his House to decorate. I hope he will like it, and through it, he can see I am trying to correct my mistake. Maybe this painting will keep him from forgetting my name him, even if it's only that ... do not forget my name, do not forget that there is an Elf-maid in Gondolin called Elyéta. I do not ask for more._

* * *

Purple shadows stole across Tumladen, and the Wind-sylphs bent the green grasses and pulled at Duilin's hair, carrying with them all the fragrance of evening flowers, but the Swallow found no relief in it.

No, although it was an evening made for peace, peace was not in Duilin's heart. How could it be? How could he enjoy it in the face of the storm that was unleashed within himself? The words that the king targeted him that evening had been not only hateful but slander. Certainly, he had no affection or appreciation for Lord Maeglin, but neither did he play him false. He simply preferred to stay away from him and if that meant being scathing, so be it. Seeing how the Lord of the Mole hounded his cousin for him was more than demeaning, and it had driven any pity Duilin might have harbored ought. No Lord, indeed, no Elf was worthy of respect if he did such a thing to any maid.

But the King thought very differently and his love for his sister's son had blinded him, so he defended the hound instead of his daughter and believed in the lies of Maeglin rather than the truth of his Lords…or even his darling daughter, the one that had been until recently, the adoration of his heart.

His heart burned with anger, merely thinking of the words that Lord Maeglin had spoken against them. If there was any hope that he would ever have patience with the Elf, it was gone. The baseness Maeglin had shown illustrated why Duilin would certainly never trust and never accept him. Maeglin's manipulation of the noble High King enraged him, and while the words of Turgon were terrible to all the Lord, particularly to Lord Glorfindel, neither he nor the Lord of the Golden Flower was against the king: they were still faithful to him and his daughter and the city ... but was Lord Maeglin? Lord Duilin did not know what the half-Vanya thought about it, but for his part, he hated the Lord of the Mole.

So, absorbed was he in his thoughts, chaotic by the fury and indignation of which he was possessed, that he did not listen to the delicate steps of an Elven-maid, who was timidly approaching. He did not even notice her presence, even though she was only a few steps away from him. It was not until a sweet voice made him turn sharply that he recognized in the beautiful elf-maid with jet-black hair, the tender beauty, the eyes that had not left his thoughts for one instant: Elyéta.

* * *

"Um ... good evening, my lord." She greeted him shyly.

"Good evening," he answered coldly, despite himself. She was not guilty of anything, she did not even know what had happened, but his anger was so great that he could scarcely contain himself.

Elyéta saw by the expression and voice of the Elf-lord that he was in an ill temper, but she thought it was seeing her again displeased him.

 _'I have arrived late! It's too late!_ 'She thought desperately, as her throat tightened. _'Overcome it, Elyéta, overcome_! '

"May I say something, my lord?" she asked, lowering her gaze. She crossed her hands behind her back and began to rock back and forth on her heels.

On another occasion, Duilin would have immediately answered affirmatively, but his anger prevented him; However, that feeling that he had for her, forced him to make a heroic effort. He said in a strained voice,

"Elyéta, I do not want to talk to ..."

His words were choked in his throat because Elyéta had extended the painting to him. He stared at her in surprise and then slowly took the portraiture from her hand, studying it by the moonlight. As he saw what it represented, little by little, a slight smile appeared on his lips.

It was a small painting, drawn on fine canvas, and painted with an unparalleled mastery. It represented one of the feathers he wore, falling on a rose the color of blood that blossomed amongst from a bush full of flowers, which he immediately recognized: it was one of the many bushes that grew alongside the Alley of Roses. The feather was beautifully painted, as was as the flower. It seemed that the feather could truly be touched, and the rose exhaled its fragrance. In it not only the feather was represented on a petal of that beautiful flower, but also the airy fragility with which it had fallen on the bush was seen. Framing that beauty of painting, there was a hand-carved wooden frame of an impressive elegance. On the bottom, the sigil of the House of the Swallow was seen, and in the corner beside it, the name of the painter with her own handwriting.

He looked at the painting for a moment and then turned his gaze to the artist. She was trembling, her gaze low, as she waited for his reaction. It was clear that she had taken pains to do something exceptional for him, and that in that simple but beautiful painting she had put in each brushstroke a small part of herself. When thinking this, that tempest that was unleashed inside him calmed, the furious wind became a gentle breeze, and black clouds dissipated until the moonlight entered.

"It's very beautiful," he said

"You ... like it, my lord?" she dared, her gaze still fixed upon the wall walk.

"I love it, Elyéta," he replied sincerely, looking at her. "You are a very talented painter"

She raised her head and fixed her gray eyes on his blue ones, in which shone a strange light, a light that Elyéta had never seen in him or in any other Elf; but a light made her _fëa_ tremble to its core.

"I ... I'm ... I'm glad" she stuttered. "I did it especially for you, my lord."

Duilin's his heart stopped, and then beat again, but tender and slow, a heartbeat that he did not want to never end. He took one of her hands and kissed it, which made Elyéta shiver and blush intensely.

"Thank you," he replied smiling, a smile that he had never addressed to anyone before.

She blushed so her cheeks burned, and smiled back at him, a shy smile but full of joy; however, suddenly a slight frown appeared on her forehead.

"What is it, my lord?" She asked after a few moments.

Duilin frowned in surprise at the strange question. Seeing his gesture, Elyéta lowered her eyes once more and crossed her hands in front of her, clasping them nervously.

"Is that ... ah ... well ... your eyes do not shine as always, my lord. Ah ... I think ... well ... something disturbs you greatly, " she ventured, so softly that it seemed more like a sigh. Finally, she raised her face and asked. "What is it, my lord? Is there any way I can help you? "

The Lord of the Swallow felt a chill run down his back. He would never have imagined she would care so much about him, and even less that she would notice such minute details. It was evident that he was truly important to her. When thinking this, once again his heart stopped, and he barely could contain the sigh that threatened to leave his chest.

"It's nothing," he replied softly "It really does not matter."

Elyéta frowned slightly. She did not believe a single word.

"Really, my lord? I know I'm not the wisest person and you barely know me, but ... maybe I could ... ah ... help you? It's the least I can do for you, after behaving so impolitely."

Duilin frowned in confusion.

"I did not talk to you all the way to the palace," she murmured, looking down in embarrassment. "That's a terrible lack of manners, particularly since you were kind enough to escort me."

"No, the one to blame is me", he replied earnestly. "You were indeed nervous, and I should have been kinder to you"

"What is it, my lord?" She asked again after a moment, raising her gaze and fixing it on his, seeking the truth in his blue eyes.

"It does not matter," he hastened to answer.

Why tell her that humiliation? It was clear that this beautiful elf-maid was extremely sensitive and although she would listen to him and sympathize with him, it was no less true that she would also feel unhappy for him, and she did not deserve such a thing. Nor did he deserve that such a sweet creature should be so interested as to suffer with him. She must be happy: her sweet and tender heart deserved it.

He was torn from his thoughts by her gesture of surprise, and her large eyes on his.

"What is it, Elyéta?" He asked, surprised.

"Hush," she said, smiling, "Listen, my lord"

Lord Duilin paid attention. He heard nothing.

"Listen, close your eyes and listen ... there it is ... the sound that truly matters," she said, closing her own eyes, a look of silent exhilaration on her face.

He frowned in confusion but did as he was asked. As he did so, a sweet song came to him. It was the wind that blew softly, and he in the midst of his fury had not even noticed it.

"The wind?" he asked.

"Yes, the wind," she answered, her voice borne upon the soft night breeze almost as though one with it. "The wind," she repeated after a few moments and began to speak in the tone of one who is sharing a great and beautiful secret. "The wind is the only sound that truly matters; for the wind brings with it great and ancient stories of joy as well as sadness, both hate, and love. If you know how to listen, you learn from the great heroes of olden days, from the songs sung by the Ainur in eternity, the Great Music. The wind brings wars, but it also brings peace ... peace for those who have lost it, those who have in their hearts' great unrest," she said, turning to him and opening her eyes.

"So, the wind is the only sound that truly matters?" He asked, opening his one, asking in the same tone she had answered, while a soft smile appeared on his lips.

Elyéta nodded several times and smiled at him, while her eyes shone with a light of joy at seeing him smile.

Lord Duilin stared at her, and in his blue eyes appeared a very strange and different light that was the true reflection of the beat of his heart. He could not believe that this beautiful creature would have been able to calm the storm inside him without even knowing what had caused it. Instead of leaving him alone to the onslaught of the waves of his fury, she had stayed and by her tender and childish conversation, had calmed him, and now his heart beat so marvelously that the Elf-lord longed for it to continue forever. How had she done it? He did not have the faintest idea, but he knew she was special, very special to him, and her beautiful eyes like two great stars and her sweet smile were not only an anchor for this difficult moment, they also pleased his _fëa_. Guided by that strange, new feeling that had taken hold of his _fëa_ , he said in a low voice, leaning towards her, like someone who is going to reveal a great secret.

"You are right, Elyéta. The wind brings everything you have said, but you have forgotten a very important one."

The elf-maid who had looked at the Echoriath, content to enjoy the wind next to him, turned and looked at him questioningly.

"The wind is also the only sound that really matters because it brings the voice of a sweet Elf-maid, tender, fair-minded, wise and beautiful; one who only needs to look at you to see what ails you and know what words you need to hear at the moment."

Elyéta's eyes widened, and her delicate lips parted to reveal her uncanny astonishment. In her eyes shone light very similar to the one that shone at that moment in his. She opened her mouth to answer, but apparently, she could not even find her voice, and even if she had, it would not have been useful because at that moment Lord Duilin said in a gentle voice,

"Hush ... let me hear the wind, the sound that really matters."

Elyéta nodded several times and was leaving when a hand on her arm startled her. It was Duilin, who gently stopped her, and added,

"With you by my side"

She blushed and gave him a shy smile, but full of joy and a feeling ... a feeling that was reflected faithfully in his smile.

* * *

 **So... seems that Turgon turned to be blinder than what his Elf-lords thought as well as Salgant's clumsiness.**

 **An interesting difference between the two couple of to-be-lovers, especially between Laura and Elyéta.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys! They're extremely important.**


	23. To repent

**Hi people!**

 **So, here's the second chapter promised!**

 **As animal56 said: Turgon definitely needs that someone smacks some sense to him... specially now that he chided his Elf-lords in the most unfair way.**

 **We also saw what happened in both couple of the to-be-lovers. Interesting thing was that Lord Duilin known for his quick temper was able to behaves himself with Elyéta unlike Lord Glorfindel who was known for his light and kind temper. As for the reaction of Laura and Elyéta... both showing understanding in different ways.**

 **But now, let's see what the Elf-lords think about what happened, especially Lord Ecthelion and Lord Glorfindel; what will happen between Lord Duilin and Elyéta; and of course, what will happen with the main couple of the story: Glorfindel and Laura.**

 **Also I want to add that in this chapter a new character will appear.**

 **Before I start , I want to thank Celridel for being a so great beta and the reviews of animal56 and AvidReader, as well as I want to invite the readers for leaving their reviews.**

* * *

 **Chapter 23: To Repent**

 _(Aldúya, Day of the Two Trees. Yavannië {September}, Yávië, Summer Waning)._

The sky lightened to a pale silver in the East. Golden rays of sun rose over the Echoriath, heralding a new day come to Gondolin. Dawn set the sky awash with color, and Tumladen glittered with dew, white mists rising from the grasses. The wind, which had held the bite of autumn during the night, grew warmer and wet, carrying the dew with it.

Elyéta and Duilin had not moved from the wall and watched in pleasant silence as a new day dawned, taking with it the darkness of a difficult night to bring new hope.

The Swallow watched an eager lark skim over the white heads of the grasses and then turned to his beautiful companion. She was bound in rapt delight as she walked the dawn: while he delighted in watching that beautiful creature called Elyéta. Her silky hair was loose and fluttering around her face, and her large eyes, in which a silver forest dawn was trapped, showed eternal youth and tenderness.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked round to meet his eyes, and then dropped her gaze, blushing intensely. Why did he look at her like that? She was not beautiful, at least, she did not think she was. Why then did the Elf-lord look at her so? And what was that light in his eyes? Why did that light make her _fëa_ tremble?

 _'What should I do?'_ she asked herself, _'I do not want to appear a fool by staring at him mutely….but my heart and mind wish to look at him. But ... what will he think of me? '_

"If I may pry, what are you going to do today, Elyéta?" He asked after a moment.

"Oh! Um ... well, I'm going to the palace and then I have to accompany the Celebrindal. You see, my lord, the Princess will most likely want us to attend her today. And then there's Ardyl ... " She broke off when she saw Duilin smiling at her. "I am sorry, I am rambling again." she murmured. "I am going to the palace." "Would you allow me to accompany you?" He asked, with a leap of eagerness in his words.

Elyéta's eyes grew wide. He was no longer escorting her, he was accompanying her. A sudden joy overcame her heart. He was not angry with her!

"Oh, yes! It would be an honor, my lord!" she exclaimed with equal eagerness, nodding several times.

"The honor is mine," he answered softly, and stood, offering her his hand to help her down the stairway carved into the stone of the wall.

Elyéta's blush grew when she saw he was treating her as if she were of high nobility! Nobody but her brother had shown such kindness towards her! And her surprise grew even greater when instead of walking beside her, Lord Duilin offered her his arm.

Elyéta swallowed hard, putting her hand on his arm. Her heart was being with the quickness of hummingbird wings, but her _fëa_ sang and shuddered at an unknown feeling that had gradually taken possession of her.

Lord Duilin smiled at her and began to walk.

* * *

"We take the third gate."

"Yes, my Lord."

Glorfindel sighed. Astaldil, his second-in-command, already knew, of course. He always knew, and sometimes Glorfindel wondered if Astaldil would make a better Lord than him. He was clever and brave, one that would never fail a friend, much less forgive or forget a foe.

"I assume Finyissë has recovered from the training mishap?" he asked.

"She has." Astaldil smiled. "She was quite insistent on her complete healing."

"Good. She may return to training in a day."

"That cannot come too soon."

Glorfindel did not smile. He would have, knowing Finyissë's personality, had it been any other day, but not today. Not after what happened last night.

After repeatedly insulting Hwa-Young, he had realized it was for the better to remain mute and had not spoken a single word since. Deep down, the voice that was nearly a whisper, warned him to be careful of his treatment towards her. She had no bearing on what had happened, and she was sensitive... in her own way. She had suffered too much already and did not need to suffer anymore because of him.

Early in the morning, he had taken up his harp and left to go arrange the affairs of his House.

Laura did not make any movement but watched him go until she lost sight of him.

* * *

 _ **Laura's POV**_

 _'Oookk, that was something I did not expect. I thought that the good Glorfindel would come out of his ... trance; but it turns out he didn't. He did not even seem to realize that I was keeping him company! That ... that ... that hurts. It hurts me a lot. I shouldn't have done it. After all, that's how everyone behaves with me when I try to help them. Either I do not really know how to help, or my past is so black that my help is despised._

 _The truth is sad and painful. Glorfindel does not have the slightest idea of who I really am or of my past, and yet he puts me aside. Apparently, I'm a lost cause. No matter how hard I try, no one will ever appreciate what I do. It seems a lie, but when I was a cold, cruel and ruthless assassin, it was when people liked me or at least respected me._

 _Anyway, I shouldn't be surprised. Lord Glorfindel is an Elf, a self-described half Fair-Elf. How else would a Fair-Elf react to the help of a firíma?_

 _However, I do not blame him and, strangely enough, I'm not angry with him either. It's nobody's fault but mine and I have to face it. Glorfindel has been kind to me, many times in his own way, but he has been._

 _So, I'm not angry. I can't be, even if I wanted to. I'm just sad that he pushed me aside when I tried to help him too. The strangest thing of all is that, even though he did not say anything to me and simply left without even looking at me, I am willing to go back to ... trying to help him. If he has done it so many times facing my temper, I think it's fair that I do it too. After all, apparently he has a temper too.'_

* * *

They were standing in the marble courtyard in front of the palace, by the great fountain, which cast a shower of shadows on the pavement and a shower of clear water in its basin.

After wandering randomly for nearly two hours through Gondolin, Duilin had finally taken her to the palace. During their walk, he had asked her about the art she loved: painting. At first, Elyéta had responded nervously, terrified of beginning to babble, but the tone of his voice and the clear interest he showed in what she liked encouraged her, and after a while, she began to talk enthusiastically. Her conversation became vivacious and pleasant. There was still a certain timidity in her, especially when she saw his face; but she was more confident now.

The Swallow listened attentively, paying attention to the smallest details of both her words and her beauty. He longed for the walk would have lasted longer, but both had duties that they could not neglect; so very reluctantly, he led her towards the palace.

* * *

Elyéta gently untangled herself from the Elf-lord's arm, glancing towards the palace and then at him, who had never lost sight of her.

"Thank you for walking with me, my lord," she murmured, blushing again. "It has been an honor to be accompanied by the Lord of the House of the Swallow."

"The honor has been mine, Elyéta. Not only the moment you allowed me to accompany you, but also the one you stayed with me, saving me from my own fury," he replied in his swift, eager manner. "That is something I will never forget. No one has ever been able to calm my anger…..but you," he added after a moment. Duilin paused again. "You are a very wise person, Elyéta. Wise and beautiful," he said in a low voice, and it seemed to Elyéta she could hear the words in her heart, so quickly did it thump against her chest.

She smiled a smile that was very different from any that had been addressed to anyone before.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, looking straight into his eyes "That ... that means so much to me."

Duilin did not answer, he gazed intently at her. He could never be weary of looking at her, nor listening to her voice. A feeling, born when they had first met, but that he had ignored in the midst of his impatience towards himself, led him to delicately tuck a black lock of her long hair behind her ear.

The elf-maid blushed, but held his gaze, still smiling at him. Ah! How she wished that time would stop there! A sigh nearly escaped her lips as she felt his hand.

The world halted there, the song of greeting that rose to the new day, ceased to be heard, the breeze that blew with autumnal force was arrested. Nothing existed outside of themselves, nothing, except each other. Elyéta and Lord Duilin, and that strange feeling that had been gaining ground without either of them understanding what was happening. He was lost in her eyes, grey of a dove's wing, soft as down; the grey of the ocean an instant before dawn's first rays strike the water: she saw nothing but his blue eyes, intense, forceful, reflecting the intensity and forcefulness of the Swallow.

"Elyéta! Elyéta!"

A voice jerked them out of that enchanted moment, calling,

"Elyéta! Ah! Here you are!"

Elyéta turned sharply as she recognized the voice, and grew pale.

"Linwe!" She called out to him, her voice nervous again.

"Linwe?" Asked Duilin. A strange feeling clenched his heart, and his jaw tensed.

"He is my brother. My older brother," Elyéta answered anxiously.

"Ah!" he said, and the tightness in his chest was gone.

An ellon who looked the age of Duilin came running towards them. He was taller than Elyéta. Jet-black hair fell over his shoulders. His eyes were a grey that was bluer than his sister's: expressive, but lacking Elyéta's brightness. He was slender and tall, with the muscles of a whipcord, while his features were both handsome and discerning. It was clear to Duilin, that this Linwe was indeed Elyéta's brother.

"My lord," he said, bowing his head abruptly. An undertone of impatience was in his words, neither of which pleased the Lord of the Swallow. Common folk did not greet Lords with a bow of the head, which was a token of greeting used by how and low, but with a reverent bow. But he remained silent out of respect for Elyéta.

"Elyéta', I have looked everywhere for you. You were not in the house, nor the Markets, nor at the palace." exclaimed Linwe, ignoring the Elf-Lord.

"Do not worry, Linwe," Duilin answered for Elyéta, who had been frozen in the face of her nervousness. "She and I were walking together. There is no danger."

"No doubt," Linwe answered in a tone that caused Duilin frown in annoyance. The veiled import of what he was saying was very clear.

If Linwe had noted the Elf-lord's reaction, he did not care. He turned to his sister, who had paled even farther when she saw Duilin's frown. It was all known that the Elf-lord possessed a quick temper and what she wanted least was for him to get angry with her brother.

"Let us go, Elyéta! The Princess is waiting for you and Ardyl is lonely. We have no time to spare." he said, taking his sister's hand in his. "My Lord, have a blessed day."

"Likewise, have a blessed day," Duilin answered coolly.

Elyéta turned and looked at him with eloquently pleading eyes. She was trying to apologize and advocate for her brother, but the words were missing. A gentle smile from the Elf-lord reassured her, and she turned and ran after her brother.

A sudden impulse called Duilin to spring after them, calling

"Elyéta!"

He was by her side nearly before she had turned, and she looked at him questioningly. To her untold astonishment, he took one of the white feathers from his braids, the largest and most beautiful. Then taking her right hand, he laid the feather in her palm.

"Thank you," he said. "I hope to see you again soon," he added, covering her delicate hand with his own. She could feel that his hands were marked with lines and callouses, that told a story, that he had not always been the greatest archer and spearman in Gondolin. She had never seen so beautiful… so masculine a creature.

She blushed and returned his smile.

"Likewise, my lord," she replied.

"Elyéta!"

Elf-maid and Elf- lord turned. Linwe was standing an ell away, his arms crossed, clearly impatient.

"May you have a blessed day, my lord," said Elyéta, bowing.

"May you have a blessed day, Elyéta," he replied smiling, as he bowed his head in answer.

Elyéta smiled at him one last time and ran away to her brother, who had seen everything with clear annoyance. Duilin stared at him, showing that he harbored no affection for Linwe's actions. To his astonishment, Linwe held his gaze without flinching, which was rare. Then he took Elyéta by the hand, as a brother would do with his little sister and both left hurriedly, losing sight of the Elf-lord soon.

* * *

"Please, Linwe, please calm yourself!" Elyéta pleaded once they had lost sight of Lord Duilin.

"No Elyéta, do not ask me to calm down!" He exclaimed hotly. "Do you not realize what is happening?"

She looked at him in surprise and confusion. No, she did not understand.

Linwe stopped his hurried walk and released her hand.

"Elyéta I looked for you all night," he said, "And I found you nowhere. First, I looked for you in the places you usually are, but when I did not find you in any of them, I looked for you everywhere. Do you know how much anxiety you brought on me?"

"Linwe, you know that the city is completely safe. No one knows of its existence," she reproached. "I was with Lord Duilin. Even if Gondolin was suddenly, I would be safe."

Linwe sighed with exasperation

"No Elyéta. You are not safe with him."

"Of course I am!" she contradicted quickly. "He is an Elf- Lord! He is the Lord of the House of the Swallow! He is fastest and most agile elf of all Gondolin! He would protect me from any assailant!"

"Yes, he would protect you from assailants, but not from him. He is precisely the danger."

Elyéta alternately paled and flushed with indignation. What was her brother trying to tell her?

"Listen Elyéta. I am telling you this for your own good: we are from the common people and he is Lord. Do not forget it," he said, his voice gentler

"And what does that have to do?" She answered angrily. "What is wrong with us being….being…..friends!"

Linwe did not know whether to laugh or cry or get angry. How innocent his little sister was!

"No, Elyéta. He wants more than friendships."

"What do you mean?" She asked, but a voice in her heart had already supplied her with an answer.

Linwe groaned.

"A lover, Elyéta! He wants to be your lover!" he exclaimed, drawing a curious look from a fellow lady-in-waiting, Melimë, who was passing by on her way to the palace. Lowering his voice, he continued. "Why do you think he gave you his feather? And why do you think he behaves so gallantly with you? Why do you think he accompanied you around the city?" He took her by the shoulders when she drew a shuddering breath. " Elyéta, you are my little sister, my only family and I have sworn to protect you from anyone who wants to hurt you."

"Lord Duilin would never hurt me!" She exclaimed in a trembling voice, her eyes full of tears.

"That's what you think. And ... maybe that is not his intention; But sooner than later he will. You are beautiful, and you have an unparalleled talent for painting. You have a heart of gold and you are noble, but that does not matter when he is a Lord. They will fall in love with ladies of their own rank. He cares about you for the moment, but sooner or later he will live you for a lady. That is the way of life, _inwilitse_ ¹." He sighed when he saw her tears and hugged her. "Ah, Elyéta! Do not cry, little sister, do not cry! Only do not forget: he is a Lord and you are a commoner."

Elyéta pushed away from him, her mouth set.

" No, you're wrong, Linwe," she said determinedly. "It is true that he is a Lord and I am commoner. But that is not a barrier to friendship." Linwe opened his mouth to answer, but Elyéta did not allow him. "So, don't you dare think of Lord Duilin like that. He has always behaved kindly to me. Although it was my fault, he tripped on the Alley of Roses, he did not get angry, instead, he apologized."

Linwe drew a quick, startled breath. He did not know that!

"Yes, he apologized," she repeated firmly, "So do not think poorly of Lord Duilin, Linwe. It is true that he is a Lord known for his quick temper, but he is also kind and gallant and understanding." she paused. "Now, I have to go look for the Princess. Please, give my greetings to Ardyl!"

She turned and ran after Melimë. Linwe watched her go.

* * *

 _ **Linwe's POV**_

 _'Elyéta must always be stubborn, and that has led her into trouble. In Válinor she would get trapped in trees because she was afraid to climb down. I told her not to, but she never listened, and then I was forced to carry her down._

 _But I cannot be angry at her, even if she is obstinate. She is my little sister, the only family I have. After our parents died in the Helcaraxë, lost forever in those mountains of ice, we were alone in the world._

 _Since we left Válinor, along with the Second Host of the Noldor, those whom Fëanor left behind, I swore to myself I would protect her from danger, at any cost to myself. Until now they have been physical dangers, like that of the tree or crossing the Grinding Ice; but now, I have to protect her from emotional dangers._

 _Elyéta is sweet, she is tender, she is noble and sensitive; she is a treasure among all Gondolin, and the one who can win her would be the most fortunate in Ennor and Válinor. But Elyéta has never given any importance to any ellon save me. She has always been immersed in serving the Princess and in her art; but apparently now an ellon, and what is worse ... an Elf- Lord…even worse Lord Duilin, has appeared in her life and won her attention, and he is very likely earning her heart too._

 _However, everyone in Gondolin knows the quick temper of Lord Duilin. He scorns mawkishness, but seeing his behavior towards Elyéta fills me with misgivings and anger. If he thinks because he is a Lord, he can do as he wishes with my sister, if he thinks he can win her heart and then leave her for a Lady and destroy her, he is very, very wrong._

 _It is true that he is the fastest Elf in Gondolin, and the greatest archer, and a fearsome warrior. It is true I am not a warrior, but I am Elyéta's brother and one who has never forsworn his word. If Lord Duilin is to be my enemy, so be it! '_

* * *

 _ **Elyéta's POV**_

 _'I do not know what's wrong with Linwe! He had never behaved like this before with me! How dare he think Lord Duilin is going to hurt me?! Duilin would never do it! I'm ... I'm special to him! Yes, yes, I am! He wanted me to accompany him all night, he wanted to keep me company on the way to the palace, he was interested in knowing about my painting ... he gave me his feather and he liked my painting! No, he would not hurt me! What Linwe thinks that nonsense! He is very intelligent, he always has been, but now he's suddenly babbling foolishness._

 _Besides, Lord Duilin is not interested in me more than as a friend. Although…..I wish he was. I want it so much… But, although Linwe said nonsense about Lord Duilin hurting me ... I cannot deny that what he has said about Duilin being a Lord and I a commoner. It's true, and I do not have the slightest chance._

 _Ah! How painful! Anyway ... overcome it, Elyéta! If he never cares about you as more than a friend, at least there is a unique friendship. With that, I will be content.'_

* * *

 _ **Lord Duilin's POV**_

' _It seems one besides Hwa-Young lacks manners as well! Does he forget I am Lord of the Swallow, part of the Council of the High King_

 _But that does not matter so much…what matters is he thinks I am going to hurt his sister. I would never hurt Elyéta! She is beautiful to me, she is the one who has helped me out of this difficult moment. She is sweet, tender, wise, understanding and ... so beautiful! I would never hurt her! And that meddlesome ellon should recognize it! Besides, I am an Elf-lord. If I mistreated or hurt a maiden, I would not deserve to be a Lord._

 _No, Elyéta is unique and different. She ... she ... she ... oh, Válar! Could that have happened to me?! It has never interested me but now ...! Oh, Válar! Have I really fallen in love with her? No! No, it is not possible! It's only been a month since I met her!_

 _I will think on it later. The House of the Swallow needs its Lord, and tonight they watch the Gates.'_

* * *

A sweet sound stopped the hurried footsteps of Glorfindel, who was going to speak to Elemmakil about a confusion over changing gate-guards. He paused and going over to the windows that opened on the terrace, listened. After a few moments, a delicate and painful melody was be heard: a melody full of sadness and pain. At the sound of the notes, Glorfindel was filled with sadness, and to his memory, unbidden, came the situation that had occurred yesterday. And yet, that melody, however much it reminded him of that unpleasant incident, managed to soothe his heart and calm his fury.

Directed by the notes of such a beautiful melody, he found its author: Ecthelion.

The Lord of the Fountains sat on a marble bench a great elm, its rust-colored leaves swaying over his black head. His eyes were closed, and his _fëa_ directed his fingers. Beside him were several sheets of paper, an inkwell, and a quill. Surely, he was composing, Glorfindel thought, for when a great emotion shook his friend, instead of training, he took refuge in the art he loved most: Music. Many of his melodies and songs had been composed at some point out of happiness, melancholy, sadness, and, this time out of frustration and anger. The melody had no lyrics: it was exclusively instrumental, but Ecthelion's flute needed no accompaniment, so much was his music imbued with feeling. His face was peaceful, so peaceful it was sad.

So lost was he, in the world of music he had created for himself, he had ears for nothing else, and Glorfindel remained silent, listening to the mournful melody, submerging his heart in it and achieving in this way a fleeting calm.

Finally, when the last mournful note had died away the air, Ecthelion opened his eyes, full of wisdom, intelligence, but there was anger, sadness and, above all, frustration, in their steel-colored depths.

" _Heldo_ ²," he said, in a quiet voice. "What do you think of it?"

"One of your best compositions," replied the half-Vanya, leaning on the engaged pillar that was carved into the gateway of the gardens. "What is it titled?"

"I do not know," replied the Noldo. "I have not even written the notes. Can you think of a name?"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"No. You know that Music has never been my strong point. In addition, it is your melody, and the feeling you have expressed in it is exclusively yours."

"And yet, I think we both share the reason for that feeling," Ecthelion said.

Glorfindel laugh was hard and scornful.

"Indeed. The king believes Lord Maeglin and Lord Salgant above all others. Six Lord who have the same mind about one! But he only believes the one who admires him. That is wise and just, I am certain."

"The _"one"_ is his nephew, Glorfindel," Ecthelion replied in a tone of resignation. "He's always going to give his family more authority than those who are outside it."

"And what about the Celebrindal?" Glorfindel cried angrily. "She is his daughter! His DAUGHTER! But he does not believe her. He was angry with her during that 'lengthy conversation'. Ecthelion, we must do something," he said after a moment when he saw that the Lord of the Fountains was silent, watching the grass. ,

"And what do you want us to do, Glorfindel? "He finally asked raising his. "What do you want us to do? You heard the way he spoke to you and me. The words that yesterday addressed to you about what happened a few years ago indicate that neither you nor I have been forgiven for what happened to his sister. He may not have punished us, he may have shown us benevolence when we returned ashamed, humiliated and hardly alive…without the Princess. But his words he said yesterday, clearly indicate what I have always noticed in him: a silent resentment towards us."

"Then why did not he just punish us?" shouted Glorfindel.

"Glorfindel, he is doing it! Do not you realize?" Ecthelion exclaimed. "Knowing him as I know him, he is doing it involuntarily, perhaps even unconsciously, but he is punishing us. Is not benevolence after such a failure enough of a humiliation? We are humiliated not before others, but before our own eyes, which is worse. You cannot deny it, Glorfindel. I assure you that you too must feel ashamed because even though you deserved, like me, punishment, the King was kind, although we lost his sister."

There was a heavy silence. Both remembered clearly, as if it had been yesterday, Írissë contending with her brother, shouting _"I am your sister and not your servant, and beyond your bounds, I will go as seems good to me!"_

Írissë was weary of Gondolin, as she had been weary of Valinor. There, she said, she had been locked in staid, unbending custom; here, she was locked in a beautiful cage of white stone. She longed for the freedom, the danger. She wanted to wander.

Lord Glorfindel could not help feeling angry that he and Ecthelion were accused of being the culprits. He had never understood Írissë's impatience towards Valinor's customs: they were free there, free in Aman, but she had left, willingly, eagerly. In his opinion, Írissë was both capricious and proud, and that had cost her dearly. And so had Turgon's weakness. The King was strong, both in body and mind, but in matters that concerned his family…that was the weak point, the place where the iron that had never been tempered into steel. If someone wanted to harm him irreparably, hurt his family, and it would harm Turgon in a terrible way. Wrath would fall instantly on his head, not only from Turgon but all the Noldor, as Turgon knew how to attract sympathy.

Glorfindel did consider himself or any of Írissë's escort culprits. Certainly, they were largely to blame, but they did not have all the blame. The king refused to accept his part, but he was sure Turgon knew that he was too guilty and his way of redeeming himself was protecting and loving his sister's son above all else ... including his daughter.

"And what do we do?" He finally asked the Lord of the Fountains who had been studying his silver flute of the finest silver. He was very thoughtful and that was a characteristic that appeared when something worried him unduly.

"What do you mean?" Ecthelion asked.

"Concerning Maeglin and Idril." replied his friend impatiently. "You and I know better than anyone what the Celebrindal is suffering because we are well acquainted with both parties. Therefore, we both know how it will end if we do not intervene."

"Protect Idril, there are no other means, Glorfindel" replied Ecthelion. "As soon as we say a single word against Lord Maeglin, the king's wrath will fall on our heads. Although the king thinks he has the whip-hand, he is very wrong. It is his nephew who has it," he added bitterly. Ecthelion hated the way the Prince manipulated Salgant at his whim and his excessive influence over the King.

"There must be another way! Perhaps if we found evidence to show the king how wrong he is-"

"What more evidence do you want us then the word of nine Lords!" interrupted Ecthelion. "He would not hear, Glorfindel! Even if Maeglin told him he was hounding Idril, the King would give him some mild rebuke and forgive him! There is no way to make a blind man see if he does not want to recover his sight."

Glorfindel cursed under his breath, which strange for him.

"You have to calm yourself, Glorfindel," Lord Ecthelion told him, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder. "If you react unfavorably, you might have a serious problem and, this time, the King will punish you. Remember what happened between Hwa -Young and you, and the punishment that it incurred?"

"It has been one of the most humiliating moments that-" Glorfindel stopped, his blue eyes suddenly widening.

" What is it?" Ecthelion asked.

" Hwa -Young!" Exclaimed the other.

"What of her?"

"Yesterday I went to see her." began Glorfindel excitedly.

"Considering the temper of both of you, that mixture must have been deadly," answered Ecthelion drily.

"No, no, Ecthelion! "he exclaimed, his excitement growing. "Nothing was farther from the truth! Válar! What have I done? "

"It is certainly a riddle ... did you insulted her?" asked his friend with a deprecating look.

"Several times ... I even called her _'firíma'_ ," Glorfindel muttered, lowering his eyes.

Lord Ecthelion shook his head reproachfully.

"Why did you see her, Glorfindel? Why did you go if you were so angry?"

"Because I thought she would get angry if I did not go," he murmured.

"She would be angrier if you insulted her."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"No," he replied, "although I insulted her repeatedly, she did not answer a single word. I…do not understand why. Then, I decided that the best thing was to keep quiet before I caused irreparable damage." He looked up and saw his friend who had his arms crossed over his chest. "She kept me silent company all night, Ecthelion." He groaned, passing a hand through his hair in frustration. "Oh, Válar! Why did I leave when she finally showed kindness and sympathy with me!"

The Noldo put a hand on his shoulder to show sympathy.

"So, why are you standing here? Go to correct your error as soon as possible "

"I cannot. I should not even be here-I needed to speak to Elemmakil over some confusion at the gates. But I'll go tonight."

Ecthelion smiled.

"I will pray to the Válar that they have mercy on you, and give you more wisdom. What you have now is not worth a rush."

Glorfindel frowned but said nothing. His friend was right.

* * *

Laura was reviewing her notes. She did not know how to read or write Tengwar and she did not have pen or paper, but she used pieces of wood and her adamantium claws to write down everything that Lord Glorfindel taught her.

Laura had a prodigious memory, but she had a bet to win, and so followed the Chinese proverb: _'a simple piece of paper written in the poorest way is better than the best of memories'._

So, every night when the Elf-lord finished teaching her her nightly harp lesson, Laura wrote it down and reviewed it each day, or on the nights he did not come….like tonight.

Her window was open, and she lifted her head at a familiar scent. Glorfindel did not often visit on Aldúya.

He knocked and called her fictional name. Laura sighed impatiently. She hated being interrupted while reading, more so, while studying; but she remembered that she had promised herself to be kind to Lord Glorfindel, even if he had behaved like a real jerk. She hid her notes, got up and, gathering her short patience, opened the door.

* * *

 _ **Glorfindel's POV**_

 _'Every time I remember my behavior towards her, I am so ashamed! I have striven to teach her that she is a kind and agreeable person. I set myself the goal of knowing and helping her; and now that she has finally shown herself not only friendly but also understanding, is when I had to fail._

 _Anyone would say that she deserves it, and the truth, to be honest, she deserves it: but I believe her unpleasant behavior is the result of suffering. I have tried to make her see what is the best, I have tried to help her, I have asked her to give me an opportunity to help her and to trust me ... and just when she finally dares to show a different attitude, it is just when I show her ill-treatment._

 _Oh, Válar! Listen to my request! May she listen to me and, even more, to forgive me! You know that she is a woman with a temper like I have never seen before. I beg of you that my behavior has no repercussions. I do not want to retrace the path I walked with so much work! '_

* * *

Laura immediately noticed his nervous behavior.

 _'And now what's wrong with this elf-guy?_ ' she thought

"Hwa -Young, would you let me talk to you for a moment?" he asked quietly.

Laura raised a black eyebrow.

"As far as I remember, Lord Glorfindel, my harp lessons aren't scheduled tonight," she said with some harshness, much to her chagrin. It was because of the interruption, but he interrupted it as rejection and winced.

"It's true," he said, his blue eyes penitent. "But please let me talk to you for a few moments."

Laura sighed reluctantly but closed the door behind her and they both went to the bench. For several minutes they sat in silence, as Glorfindel struggled for words, and Laura reminded herself to be understanding with the Elf who done her so much good.

* * *

"I came ... I came to apologize to you" he said, at last, his words slow.

Laura turned to him. She would never have imagined that he would have come exclusively to apologize to her!

"What I did and said yesterday was thoroughly wrong," he continued " I was very angry, as I have rarely been, and in the midst of my fury, I did not realize ….how terrible my deeds were." He looked up and fixed his blue eyes on her green ones. Her face showed no emotion, but inside, her astonishment had no limits

 _'From time to time these Elves show qualities, real qualities and very praiseworthy ones at that,'_ she thought

"Forgive me, Hwa -Young," he said, his words full of truth. "I should not have done that. My attitude was not anything lordly. And, instead, you gave me this time, a standard."

Laura could not suppress an expression of amazement.

"Yes," Glorfindel said with a slight smile when he saw her face. "Although I insulted you, you did not answer; and although I simply stopped talking to you, you did not leave as you were entitled to do; but stayed with me all night, keeping me company." he paused. "What you did, Hwa -Young shows that, when you want, you are wise; and you have, as I imagined, a good and noble heart. I am in debt to you forever."

Laura blinked several times, trying to really make sure her eyes were not deceiving her. How many times to the people she had helped, put her aside! And instead, they had pointed at her, judged her and mistreated her! Moreover, she was astonished that Glorfindel was so sure she was kind and noble of heart. Really that Elf had great faith in her. At the thought of it, she dropped her eyes and stared at the grass. Her heart was beating hastily. That was so ... so ... beautiful! So wonderful! She could hardly believe that it was so!

Glorfindel frowned slightly at the attitude of her. It seemed she did not believe him.

"What is it, Hwa -Young?" He asked softly.

"Nothing," she answered in a forced voice. "It is just that I am ... surprised you consider my attitude something ... amazing and worthy of eternal gratitude." she paused "No one had said it before. They all pushed me aside if I helped them, they never thanked me. Remmy and Logan were the only ones who didn't."

Lord Glorfindel frowned in surprise. Why would they do such a thing? And if that was so, how had she dared to help him? He voiced his question aloud, but she did not answer and kept her eyes fixed on the grass.

"Hwa -Young," he said softly, but she remained silent.

Moved by a strange feeling, Glorfindel moved beside her and took her hand. He could not have told why he was doing, or what that strange tingle that ran up his hand was, that was so pleasurable to his _fëa_.

Seeing that the Elf- Lord took her by the hand, Laura stiffened and turned her face sharply to him, only to be stunned at his proximity.

"Why did you do it?" Glorfindel asked again

Laura turned her face to the grass once more.

"I do not know." She shrugged. "I only knew…I thought, I felt it was the right thing to do. I only knew and felt that I should help you and show you support. I did not know how-I'm very clumsy, and nobody cares or likes or accepts my help. They all run from me and if I help them, they push me aside; but ... why in spite of that did I try to help? I do not know. I guess because you've always been there, in difficult times. Sometimes you are very annoying, but I cannot deny that if there is someone who has shown me kindness, it is you. I thought the least I could do was to stay with you and keep you company, and not talk to you because nothing good would come out of my mouth." she paused. "I hope I have not screwed it again "she murmured, tears welling in her eyes as she had remembered how many times her good deeds had been mocked and judged.

She felt the Elf-lord squeezed her hand gently. A sensation ran through her entire hand and arm, all the way to her mind and, most strangely, to her heart. Laura frowned inwardly, who knows what that meant? Maybe it was something Elves did when they were showing gratitude...

"Hwa -Young, I do not know why you have been put aside and judged when you have helped others, but I will not," he said softly "What you did for me….I do not have a way to thank you for it."

Laura looked up then, seeking the truth in his blue eyes.

"I'm not going to be like those other people who have misjudged you," he continued. "I know you are a noble person, I know you suffered a lot, and that is why you are so aggressive; but what you did has only reaffirmed my opinion about you, and it encourages me to keep working to know you, no matter how long it takes me. Do not fear, Hwa-Young. Do you forgive me?" And for some reason he did not understand until many years later, he grasped her hand. Once again that tingle was felt, running up until it touched his _fëa_ as if it were the soft touch of a feather falling. He frowned, not understanding and glanced quickly to see if she had felt it too but seeing that Laura had not made any gesture, he decided to ignore it.

"Ok," she said. "You're forgiven… _Blondie_!"

Glorfindel looked at her in astonishment. Apparently, now she was going to revenge herself by insulting him. He was going remind her of the agreement when in the light of the stars, he saw something in her eyes something he had never imagined: a playful gleam in the intelligent green, and laughed instead.

"Very well, I will give you that one. This time, I deserved it."

 ** _¹ Little Fairy_**

 ** _² Quenya masculine noun for "friend"_**

* * *

 **Apparently, there will be someone who is decided to give a headache to the quick-tempered Elf-lord.**

 **Also, sees that the same thing that started to happen to Lord Duilin and Elyéta, is happening to Lord Glorfindel and Laura. Let's see how will both react at such strange tingle.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	24. A true friend

**Hi people!**

 **Sorry for the delay, there have been a couple of things; but finally! Here's the next chapter!**

 **In this chapter, will be showed a side of Lord Ecthelion and Princess Idril that is not known.**

 **Before starting I want to thank Celridel for being a so great beta.**

 **Waiting your reviews, guys!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 24: A True Friend**_

Melimë's voice was a distant echo in the ears of Princess Idril, who sat in the recess of the oriel window, watching the _tumlótëa_ blossoms.

That morning, she had met Lord Galdor and Lord Egalmoth. Despite their respectful greeting, she could not help noticing that both were greatly disturbed, notwithstanding their attempts to conceal it. It had not been difficult for her to perceive their agitation. She was extremely insightful; a skill inherited from her father, the High King of the Noldor and, above all, from her mother, the departed High-Queen Elenwë.

They were not hostile towards each other, and it took a great thing to disturb their quiet tempers.

At another time, she would have asked her father, but not now. Too many shadows lay between Turgon and herself: grief and anger and disappointment. His words had cut her deeply and renewed the longing for her mother. If Elenwë had not perished, Turgon would not be so blind, not dwell so much in the past. He would see and act. No one could make Turgon reflect or stop his course, no one but Elenwë.

Her nimble mind flitted again and again to what could have caused that great disturbance to those two Lords, and for that reason, she had caused Melimë to read poetry, so she could be alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Vendelle glanced at the Princess again, only half-listening to Melimë's reading.

She was one of the few ladies-in-waiting of the Celebrindal. The Princess did not care to be surrounded, so Vendelle, Elyéta, and Melimë were her only companions.

Melimë, the eldest of Idril's companions, had been wed in Valinor, long before the Flight of the Noldor to Norcalimo, and was the mother of Ninya and Nessawën. Her children were the delight of the palace: pretty, intelligent and mischievous. While Melimë was the lady-in-waiting to the Princess, Norcalimo was the leader of the _Tirolea_ , a company of Quendi responsible for planting and harvesting _Kementári's_ gift. Norcalimo was well known for his excellent leadership and the ease with which he handled growing things, while Melimë was known for the beauty of her voice. Her voice was rapturous, soft and sweet with throbbing undertones like plucked harp strings so that the Celebrindal loved to hear her read some poem or story or recite a legend.

Elyéta was the youngest of the ladies-in-waiting, was a dark and slender beauty, pale as white cream. Wisdom and determination hid behind her shyness. Her brother Linwe was noted for his skill with Music, especially with the lyre, and his songs were known for their beauty and talent, so much so that Lord Ecthelion had congratulated him several times. Elyéta's chosen art was painting, and she had an unparalleled talent in that regard. Her work was so beautiful and lifelike that observers thought they were real at first. Elyéta also had a beautiful voice, but it paled in comparison to her brother's, which was pure and harmonious, of immense power and lofty eloquence.

Unlike her fellows, she had never had eyes for any _ellon_ save her brother, who protected her jealously. In that, the Celebrindal envied her young companion, for Linwe was not only protective towards his little sister, he was also very insightful and knew when there was a danger and would be willing to die to protect Elyéta. Idril was certain that Linwe, even though had no training, would willingly fight to save his sister.

Vendelle was as her name suggested, shorter in stature compared to her kin, the Noldor. She was quiet, but not shy, preferring silence so she could think, with a clever, whimsical face and wore her hair a coil of intricate braids bound with clasps of gold. Unlike Elyéta, who was an ingenuous dreamer; Vendelle saw the world through eyes filled with common sense and prudence. She was betrothed to Ermehtar, a member of the House of the Heavenly Arch. He was a soldier close to Lord Egalmoth, who had noticed in him the spirit of a leader and a clear mind during the din of battle. It was his clear-headedness that Vendelle loved most about Ermehtar, with whom she would marry in the first months of the following year.

* * *

"What is the trouble, Vendelle?" asked the Celebrindal suddenly. Vendelle searched for words, confused by the unforeseen question; while Melimë stopped at her reading.

" My lady?" she finally asked.

"You have been observing me for a time," Idril said, turning her gaze towards Vendelle at last.

Vendelle met her gaze calmly. She was one of the rare few who could withstand Idril's eyes, which possessed a remarkable penetration and prescience, and at this moment, demanded an answer.

"I saw you are very thoughtful, my lady," Vendelle answered. "Indeed, I believe you directed Melimë to read so that you can ponder on whatever concerns you, without interruptions."

Melimë and Elyéta glanced at each other. They, too, had seen the attitude of their mistress, but they had preferred to remain silent.

Idril studied Vendelle for a minute, her mind, bright and wonderful as the eyes behind which it lay, considering her courses of action. Vendelle's betrothed was very close in counsel to Lord Egalmoth. Maybe she knew through Ermehtar what had befallen the Treasurer.

"You are right, Vendelle," she answered at last. "Something worries me greatly."

" And what is it, if I may know it, my lady?"

"I have ... noticed that Lord Galdor and Lord Egalmoth are disturbed, to an extent they cannot conceal. And I was wondering if Ermehtar knows something."

Vendelle remained thoughtful for a moment. She knew she could not hide anything from her lady, and perhaps Idril could calm Egalmoth.

"It is true that Lord Egalmoth has been in an ill mood for a few days," she said. "Ermehtar does not know what befell him, but he thinks it concerns..." Vendelle paused, searching for some finesse. With another, she would not have minded saying it outright, but it was the Princess and the subject was delicate "The King and Lord Salgant." she ended softly.

Elyéta winced for Idril, knowing who lay behind this warmongering.

"Are you certain?" Idril asked.

"If it had to do with the Prince, I do not know. Ermehtar only knows that Lord Egalmoth is not well-disposed to Lord Salgant, whom he has avoided since the Council."

Idril's finely-sculpted face as inscrutable as a stone mask, while she cursed Maeglin in her heart.

"Have you noted something different?" she asked after a few minutes, her tones as gently fascinating as ever.

"My daughters tried to play with Lord Glorfindel." Offered Melimë "You know, my lady, that he is a light-hearted Lord, and from time to time he plays with my daughters; but this day he refused."

"If it was in the morning, of course, it would be so," said Vendelle. "The Golden Flower guards the Main Gate today.

"That is so," Melimë agreed, "But they asked him during the afternoon, once his House had handed over the guard to the House of the Pillar. Then they told me that they had wanted to play with Lord Ecthelion but seeing that he was busy writing such a sad melody, they decided to play alone."

Idril said nothing. She had known Ecthelion from her earliest childhood and knew that when he was so bound up in his music, it was because something had happened to him, something complex or painful.

"And you, Elyéta?" Melimë asked, with a significant smile on her lips. "I have noticed that you were in the company of Lord Duilin."

The young Nolde blushed and hung her head. Vendelle raised an eyebrow, while the Princess tilted her head, interested in Melimë's comment. Her tone left much room for different interpretations and insinuations.

"Indeed?" Asked Vendelle. "I hope it was not difficult. He has a quick temper."

"Without a doubt," Melimë answered without pausing to observe Elyéta, who swallowed hard, not daring to look up.

The Silverfoot realized that there was something that Melimë knew, but that was not the time to reveal secrets, but to know what had happened between the Lords.

" Did you observe something strange in Lord Duilin, Elyéta?" She asked sweetly, hoping to rid her lady-in-waiting of her shyness of being accompanied by the Swallow.

The young Elf-maid remained indecisive. What would he think if she told them that she had found him disturbed and at first, angry? But, like Vendelle, she knew she could not hide anything from the Princess, so she decided to tell the truth.

"Yes," she replied, nodding several times and swallowing hard. "He was not...in a good humor...he... he was very disturbed."

"He did not tell you the reason?"

Elyéta shook her head.

"He told me that it was not important."

Idril frowned. All the Lords had been affected. There was only one way to know what had happened and if her instinct was correct: her father, had criticized them on Maeglin's behalf. If so, she had to remedy, as soon as possible, the disaster that that miserable Bastard Prince had brought about.

* * *

The Lords of Gondolin were gathered in the Princess' pleasure-garden, all save Salgant, Maeglin, and the King. There was silence, each busy with their own thoughts. The Celebrindal had sent messages to them through her ladies-in-waiting, enjoining secrecy.

All the Lords respected the Princess deeply, and some, like Glorfindel and, above all, Ecthelion, loved her dearly. All Gondolin recognized her qualities, her beauty, her wisdom and her kind temper, and also her strength. But she had never summoned them secretly before, and that caused surprise and confusion. What did the Silverfoot desire to tell them?

* * *

 _ **Idril's POV**_

 _'My father has indeed arraigned the Lords unfairly and humiliated them as well. He is a wise King, who measures his words and his deeds. It is thanks to his foresight and the sharpness of thought that we have lived so far, hidden from the Unnamed._

 _But I also know that when he is enraged, he says the most biting words, the most humiliating phrases. He did it with me when I told him of Maeglin's true intentions towards me, and that I am his daughter. How much more terrible must it have been for those who are not his children!_

 _Ah! Now that I see them all together, each with questions in their eyes directed towards me, I cannot but feel admiration and respect for each._

 _They are different, one and all, and yet somehow, they are all worthy of regard. From quick-tempered Rog and Duilin, to gentle Ecthelion and Egalmoth, from hot-headed Glorfindel and composed Galdor and Penlod, they are each honorable._

 _Their bearing is quick, dignified and firm, as firm as the most experienced and brave warrior, worthy of the highest Lords. And it does not surprise me for that is what they are: brave and war-wise fighters I have known since infanthood. They are all fierce, clever and fearless in the face of danger. Rather, they confront it with their heads held high, willing to lay down their lives for that which they have sworn to protect: my father, the city, me._

 _They are all intelligent, chivalrous, and kind. Even with Duilin, as swift with his anger as he is with his feet, has maintained respect towards me, despite his disturbance. And not only with me, but also with Elyéta._

 _I do not understand, then, how my father is able to believe Maeglin's slander towards those whose only fault has been protecting me. I do not understand how my father prefers his libel over his Lords' truth, who I see bowing in elegant reverence as a symbol of respect and obedience. I do not understand how my father cannot see this, if I, being much younger, understand that there is no one in all of Ennor who I can trust so much, if not with these Lords, worthy of the admiration of Artanis herself._

 _It is imperative that I speak with them and remove from them the humiliation my father gave them. They do not deserve it, rather, they are worthy of admiration and respect. My father has his judgment clouded by the absurd love he bears towards Maeglin, but if he cannot see what the Dark-Elf's son does, I do, and as Princess of Gondolin, and of the Noldor, it is my duty to amend the error.'_

* * *

"My Lords." The Celebrindal greeted those gathered in her garden with a slight bow of her beautiful head

Immediately, all Lords bowed in answer, with gallant and respectful devotion.

The Princess descended the wind marble staircase, with all the grace of some airy sylph, and a beauty that could have well approached Elù Thingol's daughter, who, had they but known, was but three years from accomplishing what even the High-King of the Noldor could not. The autumn Sun made her golden head shine so that her hair fell in waves of pure gold, the beauty of which could only be rivaled by Glorfindel. Her skin was pale and flawless, delicate as the softest rose-petal, showing eternal youth. Her brilliant eyes, so blue and bright they seemed to have a starry sky ensnared within, were piercing, filled with intelligence and wisdom that went beyond her years, and her every look a rebuke to all that was false and vile.

She walked softly: her slender body a rush in the wind, and it seemed that she glided like a swan. She wore no sumptuous dress, only simple white, but its cut was reminiscent of flight and was worthy of some forgotten Maia-Queen. But the Golden Rose of Gondolin was wrought with steel, and all the more beautiful for her strength.

* * *

She stopped at the landing on the stairs, where lilies and lupine-blossoms blossomed around her feet, and the Lords awaited her words. Idril began at once, with a quiet intentness in her voice.

"You are wondering why I have called you to a secret meeting, and you would do well to wonder. You are greatly disturbed, each of you, my Lords, and it makes me wonder what has happened. It makes me wonder whether it has to do with my father, the King." She paused and saw the Lords flinch, a reaffirmation of her conclusion. "Tell me, my Lords. I ask you to tell me the truth…what happened?"

There was a moment of silence. Why recount that humiliating and frustrating moment? It would only be to reopen the wound given to their pride and honor. But they also knew that the Princess would not be left without an answer. Finally, it was Lord Galdor who spoke.

"Indeed, my lady, it was as you guessed. Yesterday we had a Council with the King."

"And for what reason?"

"It was linked with Lord Maeglin," Duilin answered abruptly.

Idril looked at them in silence. When they had heard Maeglin's name, each had made some gesture of disgust, or of anger.

"And what did he say, my lords? " She asked.

The silence lay heavy. Telling the Princess was tandem to accusing the High King of the Noldor, and they would never speak a single word against him.

"Lords of Gondolin, I implore you by the Válar to tell me the truth!" she beseeched. It would a heart of stone that could have withstood the look she cast them.

"Lord Maeglin raised slander against us," Penlod replied at last. "He avowed we had mistreated and patronized him." His fists clenched at the unfair accusation. "He avowed we shun him and were in collusion against him."

"The King also said that Lord Maeglin had told him that we intruded every time he attempted to strengthen the family relationship with you," added Egalmoth.

"That is what Maeglin said!" Idril exclaimed, in painful and furious surprise

"That is so, my lady."

Idril's eyes were bright with anger, and this did not pass unnoticed. Rog spoke up, his voice unusually soft and gentle.

"My Lady do not fear. We understand the King had troubles weighing-"

The Princess waved her hand, gesturing for silence. A gesture of her father.

"That does not justify his words, Lord Rog," she answered scornfully. The scorn was not directed at them, but at her father's treatment of them. "He should realize that you have been the ones protected me against the bastard child of the Wife-Slayer."

There was a murmur of surprise at her words. Idril regained quick control over herself. "Lord Ecthelion, Lord Glorfindel, you have not shared your opinion, although your faces tell my father was no kinder to you. What did he tell you? "

Glorfindel looked away, angry and humiliated. If he was not careful, he would speak against Aredhel, the aunt of Idril, and that was nothing lordly. Lord Ecthelion, able to remain calm, even when he felt frustrated and humiliated to the crux of his heart, held the Celebrindal's eyes and answered softly.

"So it was. The King reminded us of our failure to protect the Huntress, Princess Irissë, and believes that it was only we who were to blame for the misfortune that befell her."

' _Only'_ carried the clear connotation of Ecthelion's true thoughts, and the Celebrindal could not help but feel pain and anger. She knew what the failure of had been those brave two, but she also knew that her aunt had chosen a course and could no more be stayed from it then the sea could be dammed. She felt her throat tighten at the memory of Aredhel, the one who had taught her to ride and shoot. If she had been alone, she would have burst into sobs; but she was not alone, and she had to show herself as the High-Princess, worthy of her parents.

"He also told us that we were patronizing Lord Maeglin," Glorfindel added, his blue eyes shining with anger, "It was our own fault that he was suffering, and if he treated us ill we deserved it."

Idril frowned.

"What about Lord Salgant?" She asked after a moment.

There was menace in Duilin's face and Rog's eyes.

"Lord Salgant?" asked Rog, with a snort of disdain. "He sided with Lord Maeglin: the weak one that he is."

"Like his skill with the sword," Duilin added mockingly.

Penlod and Egalmoth smiled slightly, and Idril tilted her golden head, thus asking what had happened.

"I defeated him, my Lady," said Duilin. "And if I had been allowed to do him more damage than to his pride, maybe we would have been saved a serious humiliation." he ended darkly.

The Princess nodded slowly. She knew the quick-tempered Lord and had already envisioned Salgant's painful defeat. There was a long moment of silence, then, where she observed each Lord, her nimble mind, and wise heart searched for the best words to mitigate the error that her father had made because of his blind love for his sister-son.

" My Lords, "she began." It grieves me to know that such a thing has befallen you and that my father said such unfortunate words. I am sorry that I am the cause of the king's wrath ... "

"There is nothing to excuse, my lady," said Lord Galdor.

Idril made an authoritative gesture with her hand, but the slight smile and lambent glimmer of kindness in her eyes showed her not only worthy of the daughter of the High King but also as one with a noble heart and a clear understanding.

"I know, Lord Galdor, I know," she said, "But let me speak for a moment. It is clear now more than ever that Lord Maeglin has a greater influence than we imagined over the king. Therefore, I beg all of you, Lords of Gondolin, to forget the offense received and I also beg you to accept my apology. I do not do it only for myself, or for the High-King, but for all Gondolin. I ask you, for the Válar, to put aside the resentment that you have for Maeglin, for then he will not be able to attack us. It is necessary for you to show obedience and set aside this sad incident because only then, you can continue to have a little influence in the Council, something very necessary if we desire reason in our city."

They looked at the young Princess, who had spoken with a wisdom that very few could match, and answered: "Your wishes are our orders, my Lady."

" My lady," Rog said after a few moments. "Now that you have spoken, let us now say a word. "

The Celebrindal nodded.

"We will do as you have asked. Our anger has been caused by the humiliation and affront, but we have never dreamed of turning our backs on our King. But we know it is not only us that have suffered because of Lord Maeglin." He paused, and Idril nodded slowly, to hide the anguish that it caused her. "Well, I assure you, that I and all my fellows are ready to face the wrath of the King if that is what it takes to protect you. Whenever you wish to be free of Maeglin, you only have to look at us, and we will come."

The other Lords, upon hearing this, swore with heart in their voices that their loyalty and protection to her would never be lacking. The Silverfoot looked grateful and nodded slowly. As a Queen, she kept her composure even when she was suffering.

"Thanks, my lords," she said earnestly, struggling to keep the tears from falling. "I appreciate your oath more than you can know, for now, I am doubly assured of the protection of the noblest Lords in Ennor."

There were soft murmurs of appreciation and smiles. The kind words of the Celebrindal were like balm on the wound her father had inflicted.

"Well, my Lords," she said after a pause. "We each have our obligations, and I do not wish to keep you from them any longer. Have a blessed day and once again, I beg you not to say a word about this meeting."

The Lords swore by their honor that they would say nothing about this and departed…all save Lord Ecthelion.

* * *

 _ **Lord Ecthelion's POV**_

 _'Idril surprised me much and more. I know that the situation is not straightforward: I only need to look into her eyes to see it. She knows how to hide her feelings, as well as her mother, used to; but ... for me, who knew her since she was a babe, I see that underneath this mask of regality and face of authority, there is a maiden suffering, valiantly supporting the weight of Turgon's failure both as a king and a father, and this hounding to which she is subjected._

 _I know she will never tell anyone of this if I do not ask her. She will take strength from her weakness and move forward. But I know her, I know well this child that I cared for while the King mourned for his wife; and I know that unless I ask her, she will not say a word, but she will save her anguish, anger, and frustration for herself. And I ... I cannot allow such a thing to happen and put this little one through such misery.'_

* * *

When she saw that Ecthelion did not depart, she tilted her head and sighed artfully. It was an attitude and manner, an off-hand mummery that Ecthelion recognized as Idril at her most insecure.

"My Lord Ecthelion," she asked coolly. "Is something wrong?"

"I was going to put the same question to you, my Lady," he answered, holding her gaze "Are you well?"

"Yes, my lord," she answered, raising her chin proudly. "And if I remember aright I dismissed all of you."

Ecthelion ignored the second part of the sentence, fixing his penetrating grey gaze on the young Princess.

"What is, _Lindil_?" he asked softly.

Hearing the pet-name, Idril looked away. The tears controlled during the hearing with the Lords were now impossible to stop and, much against her grief, they began to roll down her cheeks. A barely audible sob escaped her lips.

The brave and majestic Princess of the Noldor was transformed before Ecthelion's eyes into a maiden frail and delicate, filled with fear and anguish, for the first time in her life feeling helpless and lost and alone.

" _Linheru_!" She murmured, looking up and fixing her tear-filled gaze on Ecthelion, who no longer saw Princess Idril Celebrindal, the Flower and Pearl of Gondolin; but he saw the little child who had just lost her mother, and sought refuge and solace in him. He embraced her as he used to do in those days, and the Silverfoot hid her head against his chest and wept.

They stood thus for a long time, the only sound the Princess' crying. Ecthelion did not say a word. Why say it? She needed to feel safe, she needed refuge from the trouble. If she wanted to talk, he would listen to her. But if all she wanted was to cry, he would be there too, just as he had done several hundred years ago, when the Pearl of Gondolin was just a babe.

Idril's weeping slowly died away until only soft sobs were heard. She pulled away from him slightly and looked up. In her blue eyes, he could read desolation, sadness, and frustration. Whereas in him she could see understanding and kindness, as well as the love he had for the one whom he had helped raise.

"What do I do?" She whispered, in a voice so low it seemed like a sigh. "I do not know what to do."

That question was absurd. A moment ago, she had displayed a clear and lucid mind, showing a wisdom that exceeded the number of years of life she was, sure of her answers ... and suddenly ... she was wondering what to do?

"I know I must be strong. I know that my father relies on me. I know that I must be a worthy daughter of the High King. But what do I do? What do I do with Maeglin! " She ended in despair. "My father does not believe me! on the contrary, he got angry when I told him the truth; and as if that were not enough, you have also been treated unjustly!" She paused and looked at him with pleading eyes.

"What should I do, _Linheru_? "

"You already did what you should have done, little _Lindil_ ," he answered. "You have spoken to all of us and with your wise words you have consoled our hearts and healed the wound dealt to our honor and pride."

Idril pulled away and began pace fiercely.

"It is the least I could do," she said. "Do you know my father said Maeglin was wiser than me. If he was, I would bear no grudge… but he is Maeglin, he is the son of the Wife-Slayer. And it is not for his blood that I dislike him, you know that! But he is… dark, like his father before him, and yet my father holds him in greater esteem than me or you!"

"You are wise, _Lindil_ ," Ecthelion replied, a smile softening his face. "Like your mother."

"But I'm not her!" Exclaimed Idril, stopping suddenly, and tears returned to her eyes. "I'm not her! My father tells me again and again that I am like my mother, but I'm not her! And I never will be! "She paused, her desperation increasing, and she sank to the floor, hiding her face in her hands. " Oh, Válar! Why is such a heavy burden imposed on me? Why everyone expects me to be like my mother! Why!" Once again, sobs drowned the last words.

Lord Ecthelion looked at her for a moment, sadness read in his gray eyes. For as long as he could remember, Idril had always been compared to her mother, both because of her beauty and because of her keen foresight. That had always been difficult for her. The knowledge, the realization, the discernment of the thoughts of others from such a tender age was something hard to bear. And many times, she had confessed it with tears in her eyes. He approached her slowly and placed a gentle hand on her shaking shoulder.

" _Lindil_ ," he called softly, gently raising her to her feet. " _Lindil_ , you are not your mother, nor should you be like your mother."

Idril took a shuddering breath.

"No. You are not Elenwë, you are Idril Celebrindal. And while you look as her, and you have a gift of foresight very similar to hers, it is no less true that you are your own person. You have not lived the life of your mother. She dwelt most of her life in Válinor; you, on the other hand, have lived in Ennor. You know the horrors that are caused by the evil of Unnamed One, you have seen children of Men and you have dealt with them, you have helped to build a city. You are illimitable, Idril. Do not seek to be your mother, be yourself: Idril Silverfoot. Neither try to live up to the glorified image of your mother. Find happiness in you are you are, and your life will be more beautiful than anything you can dream. Use your mother's life as an example, but only like that: as an example."

"And Maeglin?" She asked, growing calmer. "Since he arrived it has been a plague for Gondolin, and, it will get graver as he gains more influence over my father."

"Indeed. But in this situation, nobody has more power than you."

"I!" exclaimed Idril, her voice once again filled with fear and insecurity. "My father does not even listen to me! You would know that if you had seen his face when I told him… him about Maeglin

Lord Ecthelion watched her sadly. It was clear that she was offended and hurt. But he also knew that Turgon loved his daughter very much, and that while he may have been cruel to her at the time, it was no less true that he was also suffering from the argument that they had had, and that, the Council he had had with Lords pertained to the dispute between father and daughter.

" _Lindil_ ," he said gently. What he was going to advise was not easy. " _Lindil_ , you must speak to your father, and try and regain the relationship-"

"But-" She exclaimed, her face blushing with anger.

Ecthelion made a very particular gesture, a gesture he used to make when she was a child, and which indicated that she must keep silent for a moment.

"I know it will be hard, but only you have enough influence over the King. We will certainly do what you have asked us to do; but no matter how hard we try, we will never have the same weight as Maeglin. But you are the King's daughter, you remind him of his wife, you are the only one who can take stock of the Council and make the king change his mind in the event that Lord Maeglin advises something imprudence." Seeing her gaze was suspicious, he continued. "I am not warmongering, _Lindil_. This is not a battle of power, because such a thing would bring about our downfall. No, it is about maintaining a balance in the Council. If Lord Maeglin is given full influence, it will culminate in him making a mistake, an error that could cost the city dearly, but if the king has another voice that he knows is wise and knows that he can trust, then that voice will be the one that returns him to reason. Was not it you who had the idea of dealing with Hwa- Young? If it were not for that, she would not have learned our language, and we would still be waiting for the answers we needed."

The Celebrindal was silent for a long time, her gaze fixed on the marble floor, meditating on the words of her best friend.

"And you will be with me, _Velindo_? You will not leave me?" She implored, lifting pleading eyes.

Ecthelion smiled. Those questions were what the Princess used to ask when she was a frightened child! She had asked them so many times! When she realized her mother would never come again; when her father could do nothing but mourn his wife; when she was frightened of a thunderstorm; when she had dreamed of dying in the Helcaraxë; when she had heard the arguments between Turgon and Aredhel, she had been afraid and lonely, and it was he who had comforted her and stayed with her singing and teaching her to play the harp. Yes, those two simple questions brought hundreds of memories to his mind, and he drew her to himself and embraced her as if she was still a child.

"Of course, little one. I will never leave you... _Nilenda_."

 _Lindil_ -Rain Friend

 _Linheru_ -Music Master

 _Nilenda_ -Kind Heart

 _Velindo_ -Great Heart

* * *

 **So... the Princess has achieved what her father couldn't. As well as Lord Ecthelion has achieved what the king couldn't**

 **Waiting for your reviews!**


	25. Father and daughter

_**Hi world!**_

 _ **First of all, sorry for the so late post but at least here are the next three chapters.**_

 _ **Let's remember that there's three plots developing: the blossoming relationship between Lord Glorfindel and Laura; Lord Duilin's and Elyéta's blossoming love and the canonical one: Maeglin and Idril.**_

 _ **Now, let's the the last one. Remember that there was a strong argument between Turgon and Idril thanks to Maeglin. So, now… let's see what will happen between them.**_

 _ **All your reviews are welcomed… oh! And by the way, I want to thanks to Celridel for being a so helpful and good beta!**_

 _ **Let's begin…!**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 25: Father and Daughter**_

 _Years of the Trees 1469: Tirión, Válinor_

Turgon sat on the edge of the bed, his arms wrapped securely around his wife. She was shuddering convulsively, her fingers-surprisingly strong-clutching at his enfolding forearms. He would have marks there for several days after.

He breathed carefully, rhythmically, focusing on details to take the tension from his mind so she could take strength from him. Hair had fallen from her braid, and it tickled his throat.

"The passage is fully open now, my lady," Nostáma said from her seat between Elenwë's legs. She looked up with an encouraging smile. "Don't fight the pain anymore. Bear down and push. Not long now."

Elenwë gave a muffled scream as the next contraction hit and then slumped against him bonelessly. He kissed the top of her golden head.

"You're doing beautifully, my love."

"Be quiet," she gasped. "You're the one who got me into this."

Then she tensed again with the fierce body desire to bring something into the world and shouted something as muscles contracted and tissue ripped.

"I have the head!" Nostáma said. "One more push!"

A deep groan came from inside Elenwë, like the creaking of a tree in a gale. Her whole body grew rigid, then relaxed. Turgon craned his neck to see, but her head was blocking his view.

Then a piercing wail split the afternoon silence, and something inside him crumbled.

Nostáma's helpers sprang into life as Elenwë sagged against him, and finally, Nostáma lifted a white-wrapped bundle into Elenwë's open arms.

 _It's a girl_ , Turgon thought, then wondered, _How did I know that?_

He stared down at the new face over his wife's shoulder. The eyes were bright blue, her head covered with a golden down. The rosebud mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

 _She's hungry,_ Turgon thought again, and at the same time, Elenwë pulled aside the fabric of her shift but seemed unsure of how to continue. Nostáma showed her how to support the infant's head while feeding, and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

A warm surge of protective love filled Turgon as he watched his tiny daughter feed. When she finished, Elenwë lay down on the pillows, the sleeping baby beside her.

"Thank you," she murmured. "You did so well."

"I had the easy task," He answered, caressing her hand. "You did it all, melamin." She smiled sleepily, and his gaze returned to his daughter. Her eyes were almost closed, her lashes half-moons on her face.

"Itarillë?" he asked.

Elenwë stirred, then that beautiful smile returned to her face. "Idril," she repeated. "Yes, Itarillë. Radiance."

"She will be radiant," he said.

"But strong as a warrior and wise as few," Elenwë answered.

Turgon looked at his wife. He knew that she had the gift of foresight. Then he stood up. Pins and needles stabbed his legs and back as he bent to kiss first his wife, then his daughter.

"Try and get some rest," he urged her. "I'll be in the next room if you need me."

* * *

 _Eight months later_

" _La la lu, la la lu_

 _Oh, my Little star sweeper_

 _I'll sweep the stardust for you._

 _La lu, la la lu_

 _Little soft fluffy sleeper_

 _Here comes a pink cloud for you_

 _La la lu, la la lu_

 _Little wandering ángel_

 _Fold up your wings and close your eyes_

 _La la lu, la la lu_

 _And may Love be your keeper_

 _La la lu, la la lu, la la lu."_

Itarillë was already asleep, her tiny hand curled around one of her mother's fingers as she lay in the crib. Elenwë withdrew her finger gently and went to stand by her husband.

"She always goes to sleep for you," he told her with a smile.

"Mothers have that gift," she whispered up at him, but it seemed a cloud covered her beautiful face. "But you should learn it too."

"Without a doubt," Turgon answered, taking his wife's hand. "Shall we walk while the stars are out?"

They wandered through the white city, in those few, fleeting hours when neither the Gold Tree or the Silver Tree shone, but only the stars lit Valinor until they came to a grassy hill on the outskirts of Tirión, that was covered with ninlòs blossoms. Turgon picked some and offered them silently to his wife. Elenwë smiled and took the azure flowers, that crested to a pale, blue-streaked center.

"What worries you, my husband?" She asked him, as the silence grew strained. Turgon lifted his eyes to hers. They were grey as agates and set.

"I am going," he said simply, and with those three words, Elenwë felt the world spin out under her feet, leaving her to fall in space. So her husband had also been infected with the poison of Fëanáro: the leaving of Válinor to found kingdoms for themselves, kingdoms that would be their own, kingdoms where they would have to give account to no one. And Elenwë knew it very well.

"But why go, Turukanò?" She asked, grasping for words in the dark. "Here we have everything. The blessing of the Válar is upon us. We have peace, Turukanò, we have tranquility. What do you look for in Ennor?"

"We have those things…we have blessings, we have peace, and we are ruled over," he said impatiently.

She closed her eyes and saw dead swans. When she opened them, he was still speaking.

"We cannot govern our own lives, Elenwë. We cannot found our own kingdoms because Their kingdoms are already founded here. We are children in their eyes…nothing more!"

"Turgon," she said slowly. "You could found kingdoms in Ennor, but they would be shortlived ones. The Válar have forbidden us to leave because there is darkness on the other side."

"Or maybe they want us to be under their yoke," he answered.

She knew that nothing would change his mind. She was helpless, helpless as silken words and iron will drove her people to a forsaken shore. But she had to try.

"Turgon, think the course you are on. Your decision will change my life and yours, but it will also change Idril's. Are you willing to let your daughter-your daughter who cannot yet walk-face peril that you cannot know?!" Her voice was hot, and it quenched some of Turgon's fire. He sat pensively for a minute, and then said, "I will go first, and send a ship for you and Itarillë when our home is built."

"And you will go Fëanáro and his sons!" she flamed hotly. "He cares for nothing but the jewels! You and yours…they will be alone!"

"Elenwë," he said, cupping her cheek with his hand. "You do not need to come. Stay behind… forever, if you desire. It is your choice."

Her laugh was like broken glass in her throat.

"Stay behind! I go where you go, Turukanò because you are mine! No, I will come with you, but remember you are a Prince, and a Prince can risk his own life, but he will also risk a hundred more by doing so!"

"I will remember," he said softly and rose.

* * *

They walked, drowned in cold, drowned in darkness, shut out because they had locked the gates behind them.

Elenwë went silently, her daughter in her arms as she climbed over the tumbling and shifting ice. Írissë, sister-by-marriage walked behind her, equally silent. Elenwë knew she would carry Itarillë readily, but she was loath to give up her daughter, although her arms seemed to be weighted down with boulders.

She felt her husband's presence before she heard his voice ask,

"How is Itarillë?"

Elenwë turned to meet his eyes: his dark lashes and brows coated with snow. "Cold," she answered, opening the outer cloak a little so he could see his daughter.

"This will end soon, Elenwë," he said. "And our daughter will be a princess and in our kingdom."

"In your own kingdom," she answered in a low voice. "I have followed you," she continued, "because the day we joined, I promised you that we would always be one."

"And we always will be, my love," he said, "Now, I must go and see that the others are well"

"Turgon" she called after him. "Promise me you'll be a good father to our little Itarillë!"

Turgon stopped, surprised, and then turned to face his wife.

"Always," he promised

Elenwë nodded, smiling. But when Turgon turned his back, the fear on her face returned.

* * *

The wind had risen while they rested, and the ice groaned underneath their feet like a beast in pain.

Elenwë walked slowly, half-asleep, a walking dream of prisons of ice and crowns of gold. The groan of the ice had become a constant noise now: it creaked and shifted and promised ruin. It was like a great door swinging closed beneath her feet, and in her daze, it was a door, the door to Valinor, closing again and again.

There was a sharp, piercing cacophony then, a roar of thunder, and she felt the ice begin to fall away beneath her feet.

"Amil?" It was Itarillë's tiny, terrified voice that jerked into an awful reality. She was alone, in the center of a funnel-shaped hollow that was deepening by the second. She looked around and saw horrified eyes watching her as they stood on the rim.

 _I'm going to die_. The thought was so stupendous, so ludicrous it had to be true. At any moment the ice was going crashing down under her feet, and she would go with it.

"Take her!" she screamed, holding out Itarillë to the frozen statues above her. "Take her!"

She saw Ecthelion then, coming slowly towards her, hands outstretched, a rope tied to his waist. His clear, musical voice was calm, but she felt the pulse of urgency beneath it.

"Elenwë, stay still. I'm coming."

"Take her!" she screamed again. "Take her!"

He was sliding down the hollow now…..six feet…..five feet…almost an arm's distance from her….and the ice broke into a thousand pieces beneath her feet. She felt Itarillë being jerked from her arms, and she heard Turgon scream as the cold waters rushed up to embrace her. They enfolded her in a mummery of love, taking her down, down, down under the ice.

Down into darkness.

* * *

The wild weeping of Turgon was joined by Itarillë. Ecthelion took the sobbing child went to his lord, who was staring down at the rushing water where his wife had stood.

"Turukanò," he said softly. "Look."

Turgon raised crazed eyes but Ecthelion pushed Idril into his arms. "Do not look for death, my Lord," he said softly. "Live because there are those who need you yet."

The tears did not let Turgon see for a long time, blinding to him the daughter he had to love. It was Ecthelion who had, in the first wild rage of Turgon's grief, cared of the little Idril.

But it was still Turgon who had to take his daughter in his arms, and answer when she had asked, "Atar, where's Amil?"

" _Atar, where is Amil? Atar, where is Amil? Atar, where is Amil? '_

It echoed in his ears, the voice of his daughter asking again and again for Elenwë, without understanding that she would never see her again.

His eyes filled with tears, the phrase continued to resound incessantly in his mind:

"Atar…?"

* * *

 _Forty-two years before the Fall of Gondolin_

"Atar? Atar?"

Finally, Turgon turned, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gave free rein to the pain that had eaten him for centuries. Through blurred vision, he saw a tall lady with golden hair, dressed in white, and so full of light and joy he cried out in joy. "Elenwë! Elenwë!"

Idril felt her chest constrict, a gasp of pain escaping her closed lips. She was not her mother…she never had been, but to her father, she was the surrogate to fill the void Elenwë had left. But her voice was sweet when she answered,

"No, Atto. It is I, Idril, your daughter."

Turgon shook his head to clear the vision and saw his daughter, his only daughter.

"Forgive me, Itarillë," he said, holding her tightly "Forgive me."

The Celebrindal felt tears come to her eyes.

"Why, Atar?" She asked, returning the embrace.

"For everything, daughter, for everything!" He stepped back and took her by the shoulders. "I have not been a good father! After her death, I forgot you and it is only because the Válar are good is that you have forgiven me. I took you to war with me and I ignored you when you asked for my shield." He hugged her again. "Oh, my little daughter, can you forgive this useless father?"

Idril threw her arms around his neck, tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

"There is nothing to forgive!" she sobbed. "Only remember me now. I am your daughter, Atar, please ... give me that chance."

The King wiped the tears from her eyes, and for a moment, he thought he saw his beloved Elenwë in her.

"It is I must ask for that, Idril. I will speak to Maeglin, I swear on my life. After all, you are also my family, my daughter ... the only gift I have from your mother."

* * *

 **Finally, the relationship between father-daughter was restored. Let's hope it works so Maeglin doesn't have so much influence in the Council and the other Elf-lords aren't considered as mere liars.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	26. Amon-Ra, Amon-Dai

**_Hi people!_**

 ** _Here's the second chapter. I must warn you that's very short but it'll be a change between Laura and Glorfindel's relationship... well, a new start of the several 'starts'. This time will be kind of different but for Laura. Let's see what happens._**

 ** _As always, I want to thank to Celridel for her help and invite to the readers to leave their reviews._**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 26: Amon-Ra, Amon-Dai_**

 _"Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight_

 _The stars are stretching far as sight_

 _O, though time and world are in flight_

 _There is peace in the cradle of twilight._

 _Love and hope are always dear,_

 _Dearer when the twilight is near_

 _Silver and violet so dusky sweet_

 _Time when night and day do meet_

 _Stars are spinning, shining bright_

 _In the soft cradle of pale twilight_

 _Love and hope are always dear,_

 _Dearer when the twilight is near_

 _The gold fades, the silver grows_

 _An enchanted dusk over us flows_

 _A promise comes in twilight gray_

 _Hope shall not fail nor love decay._

 _Love and hope are always dear,_

 _Dearer when the twilight is near_

 _Laugh, my heart, in the pale twilight_

 _When the stars stretch far as sight_

 _For love and hope are always dear_

 _Dearer still when twilight is near."_

Laura turned to Glorfindel, her eyebrows arched enquiringly.

"Well…master?"

In truth, the song had been well played and well sung, even to the ear of an Elf. But she had not played it without fault, for certain. There were untuned notes and occasional mistakes in the rhythm.

"You play it well," Glorfindel admitted. "But there are still some things to be improved upon." He paused, then added with a smile. "And if I remember correctly, we had a deal that if you did not learn it in the same time it took me to learn _'On Horseback'_ , you would sacrifice your hair. It seems to me you have too much at present."

Laura's eyebrows arched even higher in surprise, but there was a green glow in her eyes that told the Elf-Lord she was not defeated so easily.

"I? Cut my hair? she asked sweetly. "Why would I do that if I fulfilled my part of the deal? I can play and sing the song without a mistake."

"Not quite. There are some details that must be finetuned."

"Oh yeah? Like what, Lord Glorfindel? "She demanded mockingly, emphasizing his title. Glorfindel ignored this, sure he would win the argument this time.

"Some of your notes are slightly out of tune, or sometimes the rhythm is off, especially in the chorus."

"Oh really?" she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "The same thing can be said for your rendition of _On Horseback_."

Glorfindel felt a slight twinge of unease. His greatest vanity was his hair, which fell almost to his knees when unbraided.

And Laura knew it.

She laced her fingers together and leaned her chin on them, a faint smile on her thin lips.

"If the same thing could have been said of my song, then all I see is that we are in equal standing," he protested and saw with surprise there was a shimmer of playfulness in her eyes.

"Oh, come on, come on!" Laura said impatiently, but her eyes never stopped shining. "I'll cut off my hair and you cut off yours!"

"No! That was not in the deal! " he answered, his voice vexed with angry indignation.

Laura rolled her eyes and sat up with a sigh.

"Forget it. Give me your dagger."

Glorfindel hesitated for a bare second. His dagger, a beautiful weapon with quillions of gold wrought in the shape of wings, was sharp and deadly-not something you gave to a prisoner.

She took it with a sort of easy familiarity that surprised him. Holding it in one hand, she gathered her hair together with the other, and cut it from the shoulders without hesitation.

"Well, I cut my hair. Even a _firíma_ honors her deals," she announced, flipping the dagger deftly and turned it towards him, hilt forward.

Glorfindel took his weapon back, then took his own golden hair and cut it from the middle of the back. He sheathed his weapon and met her eyes.

Laura looked down instead, and gently took the thick tress from Glorfindel's hand and placed it beside her own hair. She stared at these for a long time, an emotion that the Elf-lord could not understand, and would not understand until many years later: until the night she told him of a man had played her, and how she had wondered if her hands were so red that even Love spurned her, not knowing the next night he would give her his soul.

* * *

"Amon -Ra, Amon-Dai," she said slowly, in a low voice, her head still bent.

Glorfindel had expected closure, not this. He looked at her and she went on slowly, trying out the words.

"Amon -Ra, Amon-Dai, " she said again. "Day and night. Day and night can never, ever together, and yet, the day has been beside the night for over two years. Every time the night tried to sink him into the darkness, the day went on illuminating everything around him, bringing warmth and ….." She paused, laughed. "Joy, fun, learning, things that the night had not had for a long time, but she can't give those back." Laura stopped and looked up at Glorfindel. The emotion in those emerald eyes was so great that Glorfindel was moved to the depths of his fëa, as he had never been.

"The Egyptians were right. Ra was able to bring good and light, but Anubis? Anubis brought death because that was the only thing he knows how to do. But Ra still accepted and appreciated Anubis." She stopped, her voice choked, still trying to smile.

Glorfindel leaned forward, and gently took the hair from her palm, and began to braid them together.

"Amon -Ra; Amon-Dai," he said. "Truth is the night tried to sink her darkness into the day, but the day persisted because with his light he gave he could show the night the beauty she had: the stars and moon and the night-wind. And the day realized that the Moon was no less beautiful than the Sun." He looked up, locking Laura's gaze with his. "The day found things that it never would have found otherwise. It found this out very soon-the night has a very strong will."

Laura laughed weakly, and Glorfindel extended his hand to show her the braid. The dichotomy between the gold and black was startlingly beautiful, each color more eye-catching because of its contrast with the other.

"Amon -Ra, Amon-Dai, " repeated Glorfindel, smiling as he dropped it into her hand. Lord Glorfindel, smiling gently as he extended the braid towards her.

Their hands brushed, and time spun itself to stop. Their hearts paused, breathless, with the braid between them. Moving along her arm, a tingling shock rushed into Laura's heart, becoming something wonderful, something gold and silver and beautiful. The shock of it made her jerk her hand away, the braid clenched tightly in her fingers.

"You felt it," Glorfindel said softly.

She shrugged indifferently.

"You Elves do pretty strange things."

"That was not me," he answered.

"Oh. Well, then it was just an electric shock. That's all."

"Electric shock?" Glorfindel repeated.

"Yes, you know. When there is a change in magnetism due to the change of seasons, it usually happens. The bodies release energy and often it is by means of light electrical discharges."

Glorfindel looked at her quietly, and Laura sighed impatiently.

"It's a matter of Physics-a branch of science where I come from. If you want, I'll explain it to you someday, but for now, I think I'm going to go to bed."

Her cold tone confused Glorfindel into obedience. He rose and bid her farewell.

Once Laura was in her cottage and sure that the Elf-lord was gone, she opened her hand and looked at the braid. It had not been an 'electric shock', it had been something so much deeper. She used to think science could explain everything. Now, there was so much it did not.

"Follies!" She said to herself as she left the braid on her dressing table and went to take a bath.

* * *

 _ **What was that what Laura felt and obviously the Elf-lord too? What will be her reaction? What will be his reaction?**_

 _ **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**_


	27. An unexpected confession

_**Soooo, here's the third chapter.**_

 _ **Let's remember that Duilin has met a beautiful maiden named Elyéta but also; let's remember that her brother, Linwë is not exactly happy of this. What will be his reaction when he sees that things hasn't change towards he wanted?**_

 _ **As always, I want to thanks to Celridel and tell that: 'waiting for your reviews, guys!'**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 27: An Unexpected Confession**_

"Well, have you and Salgant made amends yet?"

Duilin looked away from Egalmoth and scowled. No, he would never make peace with that tasseled lord after what he had done during the council.

"Duilin, remember what the Princess asked us," Egalmoth said in a low voice. Duilin turned and met his gaze stubbornly.

"Do you think it was a small thing that she asked of us?" He retorted. "He has made us looked like liars! Does seem like a small thing to you?"

"No, it certainly was not small," Egalmoth agreed. "But the Princess asked-"

"She never asked for forgiveness."

"No, but do you remember what she did ask of us?"

Duilin opened his mouth to contradict, but he could find no words, which was rare indeed, for his tongue was as fast as his limb and temper.

"Very well," he replied disdainfully. "But do not think for a minute that I'm going to forgive him, Egalmoth."

"Making peace with Salgant is more than enough for me," replied his friend.

The two lords were standing in the light cast by an amber-glass lantern, watching the merrymaking go on about them. It was the Festival of the Arts, which was held thrice a year and intended to let artists of all kinds show their skill. Ecthelion and Idril participated, but over the course of the year, two siblings had gained the admiration of Gondolin for their skill in art and music.

Linwë, a young Noldo, orphaned of father and mother by Helcaraxë, so skilled with music that Ecthelion had taken him under his wing, to nurture the gift that had been so lavishly bestowed on him.

Elyéta was the other, so shy at first, she seemed a meek and mild creature, but she kept a fire in her heart. She an unparalleled ability to paint the most amazing images, in such a way that she seemed to be able to capture their spirits, their true essence in her watercolors. She was a self-taught painter, which had led to her inimitable techniques because, for everything an artist is not taught, a star of possibility still winks on her horizon.

All of Gondolin knew who the Princess would award the prizes in the fields of art and music. It was only a question of when.

"What do you think Ecthelion will sing now?" Egalmoth asked after a few moments, trying to distract Duilin from his irritation.

"Probably he and the Princess sing a duet," Duilin answered distractedly, looking around him.

"Have you heard of one Linwë?" Egalmoth continued. "They say that he will also participate with a duet. I should like to hear it."

Hearing the name, Duilin felt a strange twinge in his chest. He still remembered the meddlesome Elf.

"No," he answered, feigning indifference. "Who is he?"

Egalmoth laughed.

"Do you spend all your time in a cave, my friend? He is one of the most skilled musicians in Gondolin. Ecthelion says there will come a time when the birds will still to listen to him play."

Duilin snorted.

"Nobody will ever be able to play as Ecthelion does. His ability was already well-known in Válinor. I assure you that no one should be able to play like him among all the Elves, including those who stayed in-" He broke off sharply then. They both knew what he had been about to say, and neither wanted it. It was Duilin who finally shook his head as if clearing his mind.

"Come on, we're at a festival. Let us enjoy ourselves!"

"I think that is a fine idea, but you don't appear to be acting on it," said a voice from behind them. They turned to seem Penlod, a good friend to them both. Duilin opened his mouth to answer when he finally saw who he had been looking for. She was dressed in pale rose-pink, her glossy black hair falling in ringlets down her back.

"Here, take this," he muttered to Egalmoth, handing him his glass of wine, and left quickly.

"Do you know who she is?" Asked Penlod, looking after Duilin's hurrying figure.

"I'm not really sure," Egalmoth answered. "All I know is that she is a lady-in-waiting to the Princess and that Duilin is in love with her."

Penlod watched Duilin offer his arm to the elleth and smiled.

"It seems you're right," he answered. "Duilin is very much in love with her."

* * *

 _Lord Duilin's POV_

 _'Oh gods, there she is! She looks like a wild rose, so shy, so beautiful. I have to speak to her before the contests begin. My mind and my heart sing when I'm with her. I cannot spend tonight without being with her. "_

* * *

"Elyéta?"

The voice startled her. She spun around, and her heart leaped with joy and surprise. Duilin was standing a few steps from her, his tawny hair braided with white feathers, his blue eyes smiling.

"Oh! My lord!" she said, making a curtsey.

"Are you going to participate in the contest of the arts?" He asked. "If not, it is only because you knew you would win, and wanted the others to have a fair playing ground."

"Your words honor me, Lord Duilin, but my paintings are not so ... beautiful, as you think "she said, her eyes still down because she knew it would be impossible to speak if she met his.

"Quite the contrary, Elyéta, I know you will win the prize because I have seen your work and I still have the painting you gifted me with," he replied earnestly.

Elyéta raised her head sharply, fixing her eyes on his. Her hands crossed behind her back and began to rock forth and back on her heels. "Really, my lord?" She asked in a voice that nearly trembled.

"Yes. I have it in my chambers, in a place for my eyes alone," he said simply. The mere fact of seeing her was enough. She wore a rose-pink dress, beautiful in its simplicity, and her only other ornament was a silver necklace with an opal pendant.

Against her will, Elyéta remembered her brother's words, and answered quietly, "My Lord, you give too much importance to a common painting by a commoner artist."

"Common painting?" Repeated Lord Duilin in utter surprise. "Common? That is the hardly the word I would use describe you! I would rather be by your side, Elyéta, than by the side of the Princess herself!".

"Truly?" She asked, the word escaping her in her amazement.

Duilin offered his arm: Elyéta timidly put her hand and let herself be guided away by him.

* * *

 _Elyéta's POV_

 _'This is so beautiful! He still remembers me! It's hard to believe such luck could come to me, but I still want more. Is that wrong? Is it? The One created love for a reason, and if only this was more than friendship. I've fallen in love with a lord….so is this truly good luck? Or is ill?_

 _Never mind. Don't think such thoughts. You have a friend, don't lose him._

* * *

They walked for a long time, talking of everything and nothing. Little by little Elyéta blossomed, becoming talkative, witty, observant.

And it was the latter that made her realize the cloud appeared on her companion's brow when she mentioned the Lord of the Harp.

"What's wrong, my lord?" she asked, puzzled and surprised.

"What's wrong?" He repeated.

"Yes, you were angry when I mentioned Lord Salgant," she said with a child's simplicity. Then she blushed and looked down, her former fluidness deserting her. "You were…ah….angry…..and maybe I can….help. I-I know that I have not earned your trust, but maybe I can help you "

The Swallow looked at her for a moment. If only she knew that she had earned so much more than he himself knew! And it was what made him answer,

"Only a ... misunderstanding. It is nothing."

He would not say more, because she should not carry any of his problems, his problems were his and only his. This beautiful creature should be forced to shoulder his burdens. She deserved only happiness.

"Forget and forgive," she said suddenly, smiling up at him. "To forgive and forget is the only this way you can live. Otherwise, you get bitter. Your heart gets wrinkled by the bitterness, and it shrivels like dried fruit. And it would certainly be terrible if my lord ended up like a raisin, would it not?" she ended playfully, still looking at him.

Duilin stared at her for a moment and then laughed.

"That would be terrible indeed," he agreed. "I would rather become a millet seed, wouldn't you?"

She laughed too.

"Me! Never!"

"No," he smiled. "You would be a rose, wouldn't you?"

Her smile faded away as looked up at him.

"A rose, my lord? Isn't that a little too grand?"

"I don't think anything is too grand for you," he answered, and bent to kiss her forehead.

"Elyéta!" The sharp exclamation made both turn with guilty quickness. Linwë stood there, a dagger-sharp gaze fixed on the Elf-Lord, although he said civilly enough, "Elyéta, I have been looking for you. We sing soon, and should rehearse one more time, don't you think?"

"Are you going to sing, Elyéta?" Duilin asked, ignoring Linwë.

"Um ... ah ... yes ... with my brother," she answered, shrinking away from both of their eyes. "My lord ..." she added with a pleading look. The Elf-lord immediately understood what she was referring to and said immediately,

"Without a doubt, you must rehearse. I'll be there to hear you."

She smiled faintly.

"Thank you, my lord," she murmured.

Linwë, who had ignored the Swallow-Lord, took his sister's hand as soon as the Elf-lord had finished speaking and led her away.

Duilin closed his fists on seeing this. If this Elf couldn't find some manners, he would get in trouble.

* * *

A murmur rushed through the crowd, and the rich, powerful voice of Lord Rog announced,

"Behold! Here is Turgon, High King of the Noldor, and his daughter Princess Idril Celebrindal, High Princess of the Noldor!"

There was silence as the two appeared onto the high stage. Turgon was amazingly tall, dressed in white, with a crown of red garnets, and a belt of gold. He carried no scepter or sword, for this was a time of rejoicing, and his keen face was smiling.

The Pearl Gondolin wore a linen dress so fine that it looked like mist. Like her father, she too wore a belt of filigree gold, and on her chest, she wore a necklace of diamonds and sapphires set in silver, a necklace that had belonged to her mother. She was smiling as well, and raised both lily hands into the air,

"May the contests begin, and the Válar favor all!"

* * *

At the end of their song, there was warm applause. The voices of both siblings were very beautiful, and Linwë's fingers extracted the sweetest notes that could be imagined from his lyre. The lyrics of the song were full of feeling and, above all, of joy. The joy that reigned in Gondolin, the joy that reigned in a place where everyone was safe from Unnamed One, the joy of a race that loves art and all beautiful things and that, at that moment, was happy to enjoy them.

Linwë bowed to his audience, wrapped in success until he noticed his sister blushing, her gaze fixed on Lord Duilin, as were his eyes on her. The Elf-lord was smiling at her, and it was clear it had little to do with the song.

Linwë took a deep breath. If his little sister did not realize what was happening, he would have to be the one to protect her. And he would start his own war against the miserable Lord who dared to play with his sister's heart. He had already begun preparations.

He approached Ecthelion, saying,

"My lord, I have a song that I would like to show the audience. Would you allow me to sing it?"

The Lord of the Fountains smiled.

"Of course, Linwë,"

"Thank you, my lord," he answered, bowing and returned to the stage. Elyéta, seeing this, ran to him before he went up the stairs.

"Linwë ... I did not know we were going to sing another song!"

"No, this song I want to sing by myself. Do not worry, little sister. This was written for a single voice."

And having said that, he went nimbly up the stairs and said, lyre in hand.

"Friends, before we continue, Lord Ecthelion has honored me by letting me sing on more song to you. It is named _Scorned Love_ ," he added, letting his gaze linger for a few moments on Lord Duilin. He paused for a minute, and then began, letting his voice roll, rich and deep and sorrowful, over the waiting ears of the crowd.

" _Wander, mourner, by sunless streams_

 _Weep, mourner, for broken dreams_

 _For after one fleeting and giddy day_

 _Like an old rag, you were cast away_

 _Sit and mourn by the moon-lit pools_

 _Sing a song of treachery and fools_

 _Your heart is broken and you weep_

 _But for him, the past lies in sleep_

 _You met amid the roses, but he cast_

 _Your heart amid the thorns at last_

 _Betrayal's thorns with roses veiled_

 _By sweet scents, you were assailed_

 _And the only warning of the trickery_

 _Was the mawkish, cloying flattery_

 _He gave to you, promising a thing_

 _That would never end with a ring_

 _You were but a toy for an idle hour_

 _And your heart naught but a flower_

 _And all its petals might be crushed_

 _Tossed aside and ground to dust._

 _So sit and mourn your broken heart_

 _The betrayal that will never depart_

 _From your reflection in moon-lit pools_

 _As you sing of treachery and fools."_

He bowed and left the stage amid surprised applause. His sister did not join in this applause: she stood frozen in shock.

* * *

Linwë was walking down an open corridor, grateful for the cool night air when an iron grip on his shoulder spun him around.

"How dare you!" Duilin cried, his eyes blazing with rage. "How dare you insinuate such things, you backstabbing cur?!"

"So, you did notice, my lord, to whom it was directed?" replied Linwë calmly. "And if I am a cur, what does that make my sister?"

"A flower, an intelligent, beautiful woman who shares no traits with her brother!"

"But not a lady. What I see, my Lord is that you are bored. Elyéta is beautiful, she is intelligent, she is skilled, but she is a commoner, and there will be no repercussions when you throw her away for someone else."

"You, witless whoreson," Duilin answered with exasperated anger. "If you think I would treat Elyéta like that you have all the mind of a toad. If I wish to be with her, it is her business, and it is mine, but it is not yours."

"It is my business because she is my little sister. And you want something from her."

"I do!" exclaimed Duilin, shaking him. "I do! I want her love! I love her with all my fëa, and I would never do her the slightest harm! She is everything to me!"

Hearing this, the young Noldo looked at him scornfully.

"Do you really think, my lord, that I believe you? You, who have always winked at love and marriage as a matter of jest, have now become a romantic? I think not. No, my lord, you do not even know what love is. Now, I think that both of us with that we could become better strangers, so let me go."

Duilin released him silently, surprise superseding anger, and Linwë walked away, leaving Duilin to listen to an enchanting voice singing about two lovers in the summertime.

* * *

 ** _Seems that Duilin has found a strange but a powerful 'enemy' in Linwë. Let's see how ends this duel._**

 ** _Waiting for your reviews!_**


	28. A mutant among the Gondolindrim

_**Hi everyone!**_

 _ **So, here's the next chapter. Let's see what's going to happen now that Laura will be introduced to the gondolindrim.**_

 _ **As always I want to thanks Celridel for being a great beta and invite to every reader to leave their reviews.**_

 _ **Here we go!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 28: A Mutant among the Gondolindrim**

Glorfindel was looking at his right hand as if it was a gateway to a miracle.

The last time he had touched the human's hand had been …..a firework in his head. The other times had been a feather-soft caress. But this was a lightning bolt that he was screamingly, electrically aware of, that had raced through his body, stifling all other sensations.

He had begun this out of pity, but it seemed he had been climbing a different stairway. Hwa-Young had been alone, her soul drowning in a persona she'd carved to fit an indifferent world. The anger from her eyes was a mask for the scared child within, the woman who had been starved of love. He had tried to bring the sun but found it took a toll on him, so he had let her fight shadows until she craved light.

She had been petty, querulous and cruel these last two years, cold and ungrateful. But she was evolving, that was also true. He had begun to strip away the façade, but she was doing it herself more and more.

Pity was no longer his reason, even to himself. But love? No. Never. Not towards a mortal. Life was too precious, the few thousand years he had lived all too short. He wanted all the years that were the Eldars' birthright, and he had no intention of forfeiting this one.

* * *

"If you keep looking at your hand like that, you'll bore a hole in it,"

Glorfindel started guiltily, looking up to see Rog and Ecthelion.

"Well, Glorfindel, what is it? We've been looking for you for over an hour," Rog continued. Seeing Glorfindel's uncomprehending stare, he sighed. "Have you really forgotten that we going to to the rivulet that the Swallows found?"

"Of course…." Glorfindel muttered, trying to catch hold of his thoughts. Like quick-flying sparrows, they had been startled by Rog's voice and now hovered just above his fingertips.

Rog chuckled richly. "What a memory you have, my friend! It is a wonder you have not forgotten where your sword is! I would think you lost count of time under the trysting tree."

"Trysting-tree, Rog? What makes you think that?" Glorfindel returned. His thoughts are coming back to roost now, but very slowly, and his voice is abrupt and defensive.

It was Ecthelion who saved him, as Ecthelion always did, whenever his hotheadedness landed him in trouble. "If he did, Rog, I think we should let him dwell on the moment. I, for one, have never found love a jesting matter."

"Of course not," Rog answered, seeming almost shame-faced. His voice has dropped a little. "A thousand apologies, Glorfindel. We will leave you now."

"If you and Galdor do not mind greatly…" Ecthelion began, trailing off with a questioning arch of his black brows.

Rog nodded, bade them farewell, and left.

* * *

"Well, Glorfindel, what is it? " Ecthelion asked, once they were alone. Glorfindel was silent for a moment, searching for words. But he finally gave up and poured everything out to Ecthelion.

"And what do you think of this?" Ecthelion said once he was finished, his agate eyes fixed on Glorfindel's.

Glorfindel shook his head. "I wish I knew. I…I appreciate Hwa -Young, and I am glad she has changed. But my happiness for her only means I am happy for her. Nothing else."

Ecthelion shrugged his shoulders, his voice mild. "You know your own mind best, my friend. If that is what you believe, I have no intention of going against you."

"But it's not what you believe," Glorfindel answered sharply. "Do you truly think I've fallen in love with…..a firíma?"

His friend's tone was reasonable, and it was that reason that rubbed at Glorfindel. "Glorfindel, I cannot give you a full answer. And I think that is what you want. You're afraid to find an answer. You're afraid of what it might mean."

"Fear?!" Glorfindel laughed incredulously, but it was forced incredulity. "Ecthelion, you can call many things, but you cannot call me a coward."

Ecthelion shrugged once more, looking out into a courtyard where a marble fountain stood, depicting two birds flying together. The crystal-clear water jumped bright, singing. "My friend, I am not a master in love. I loved once, but it was long ago and far away. All I can tell you is this, whether you are a king, a lord or a peasant, we all must learn to stand on our own feet instead of our ancestors, so we can accept the joys and sorrows that life brings. Do you understand me?"

"No. Maybe," Glorfindel replied, raising his gaze to Ecthelion's.

"What I am saying is that you must do what you feel is right. That is all."

* * *

 _Last Day of Narvinyë (January)_

It was the day of Turuhalmë or the Logdrawing, where the Gondolindrim went into the snowy woods to bring back firewood on sleighs, for the Tale-Fire was never allowed to go out on Turuhalmë. Even now, it roared and flared anew on the hearth, blessed with ancient magic.

Bright-towered Gondolin stood beautiful and white, covered with midwinter snow. But although the trees were bare and the only blossoms there were frost-flowers, merriment filled all the streets.

The people had been called into the Great Market, and they stood there, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women holding their babies, children dodging in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows' crossing flights over the noise and music.

It was the silver bell that stilled them all, with its great joyous clanging, turning all eyes towards where the King and his daughter was standing, on a raised dais.

"My friends, my people, I must tell you something." Turgon's voice was not loud, but it was clear and strong. "Today is a day of merriment, but it is also a time of Sovallë, of purification. That means I must tell you this. Two years ago, Lord Glorfindel and Lord Ecthelion found a mortal in the Tumladen valley. For two years we have been watching for some sign that this was only the beginning: that we had been found out, but our eyes and ears have told us that is not so. We are still safe, hidden from the Nameless One. So now, my friends, greet Hwa-Young, the woman of North Korea. She is to stay with us the rest of her days."

Idril went down the other side of the dais, and when she returned, her hand was on the shoulder of a small, slim woman, her short hair black, her eyes cat-green.

There was the silence of a grave-yard with all the warmth of the dead. It was Idril who spoke. "Surely we pride ourselves on a warm welcome. Hwa-Young is to stay with us, to find a new life."

She nodded to the musicians, and the music began again, a shimmering of gong and flute, and a voice called from among the crowd, singing sweetly:

"Come and join our merry throng

Dance our dance and sing our song!"

Turgon turned to Laura, his voice smiling but his eyes warning. "You have been introduced to my people, Hwa -Young. This is your time to show us we have not judged wrongly. Now go down, and meet with your new family."

Laura's answer was a strained smile.

"Yes, your Majesty."

* * *

 _Laura's POV_

 _' This is fucking horrible. Worse than the day I came to Mansion X. I can feel everyone looking at me. And why not? I'm a mortal, a firíma! Damn! How I hate that word! As if the elves were the sans pareil!_

 _The only catch is that they're wrong. I am a human, but I can live as long as they can._

 _Most of them aren't even talking in Quenya: it's Sindarin. Ecthelion offered to teach me, but what for? I can do it myself._

 _Damn you all for making the centerpiece of your little party! I can't be here…..I hate it already. I'm going to leave, they already have something to talk about. Talk of the town, that's what I am. God-damn it._

* * *

She had mingled in with the crowd until she was sure Turgon's eyes were off her. Then, she began working her way towards the back, as covertly as possible.

"Hwa-Young?"

She straightened, nailing a smile to her face as she turned.

Maeglin stood there, holding out a glass of wine to her. "I'm glad to find you among us."

Laura took the glass, nodding her thanks. All she wanted to do was leave. Just be polite, she warned herself, still smiling. "I'm happy to be here as well, Lord Maeglin. And I'm surprised to see you. After all, I was under the impression you didn't like these events."

The young Elf-lord smiled, sensing her impatience perfectly well. Laura sighed, "I shouldn't have said that, Lord Maeglin. It's only that I don't want to be here and I know that they don't want me either." She gestured around her.

Maeglin nodded. "Believe me, I know. Not many care for the Bastard-Prince."

Laura arched an eyebrow. "Well, maybe, but being a bastard….or what happened to your parents isn't your fault at all. I've done things I'm not proud of, and if they knew…I don't know what would happen."

"What do you mean?"

Laura looked from the crowd back to the Elf. "When I was going from North Korea to Russia, I had to do some things that were not ... good," she replied simply.

There was a long silence. Maeglin watched, from the corner where they stood, the crowd dancing and singing. Laura swirled her wine around the glass, and in each ripple of the red liquid, she began to see the faces of people she had tortured and murdered. Even here, her past would haunt her, and she deserved it. That was a simple truth.

"Look, Hwa-Yong. Does she not dance like she has fire under her feet and wind in her fingers?"

Laura looked up and saw that her partner was watching Princess Celebrindal, dancing among the crowd with pure, unpracticed grace.

"Yes," she answered cautiously, but she could have said nothing, for Maeglin was spellbound.

"She is beautiful. Beautiful and cold. Why so cold?" Maeglin continued, and his eyes were hot and cold with passion and grief.

Laura looked at him. "Perhaps because we are what they have never been and we never become," she replied. The words came out with the ring of a painful, unquestionable truth. "They are light and we are dark. That is all. Glorfindel has moved away from me too." she added suddenly.

. "I'm sorry," he said, with real sympathy.

"I know," she replied with a small smile

There was another moment of silence, then Maeglin asked, "Would you like to see my forge, Hwa -Young?"

Laura turned towards him. "Forge? Yes, please. It would be a good way to get to know the city."

"It's out of the city."

"Even better.

Maeglin chuckled. "Very well. I'll come tomorrow and take you there. if you want, I can teach you some techniques. We'll start at the beginning, of course."

Laura laughed this time. "Lord Maeglin, I may have some tricks up my sleeve that will surprise even you."

* * *

 _Laura's POV_

 _Lord Maeglin has invited me to his forge. It's an honor, I suppose, especially since he doesn't exactly like people. Maybe he and I can be friends. It makes more sense than Glorfindel and I becoming that._

 _Yes, it's a fact. And Glorfindel has probably always realized that. That's why he's made the distance between us, but I wish I knew what I did. I do. I really do. I hate this uncertainty. It makes me…..it makes me almost want to cry._

 _Whatever that 'electrical charge' was….it changed everything, even my mind. Glorfindel seems kinder…..hell….even…..even sweet. Oh, fuck that! Yes, Laura, go ahead. Become interested in someone you have no chance with. Get a grip, girl. The best thing you can do is find something in your reach, and remember who you are, and who he is.'_

* * *

"I thank you for the dance, Lord Glorfindel," said Idril, as he led her back the dais. "It's been a long while since I've enjoyed a dance that much."

"And I as well, Princess," he answered, smiling. "I thought that….the King's announcement would ruin the festival, but it seems to have not affected it at all." "Yes, Hwa-Young. Of course," the Princess replied lightly. "Where is she, Glorfindel? I would think you'd be with her."

"I thought maybe she should deal directly with the Gondolindrim," Glorfindel answered.

Idril shrugged her bare shoulders as they ascended the dais. "Perhaps, but it seems to me I would rather deal directly with strangers with a friend by my side."

Glorfindel flinched inwardly at the Princess' light words. He knew Idril, had since she was a child. She knew how deeply the most carefree words could affect a person when spoken at the right time.

"It seems to me that you and Hwa-Young have grown a little apart, or is that only my perception?" Idril continued.

" What do you mean, Princess?" He asked innocently.

She smiled, shrugged, inclined her head. "Only what I said, Glorfindel. But don't answer if you don't wish to. Thank you again for the dance."

"Of course. May I have another sometime soon?"

"It would be all my pleasure," she said. Glorfindel left, and she widened her gaze to take in the rest of the scene. Her eye was caught first by her cousin-his height and breadth made him hard to miss. The faintest moue of disgust crossed her lovely face. Then she saw the woman talking to him. She frowned inwardly, but when she blinked, everything changed.

The woman was speaking to Glorfindel, not Maeglin, and she was wearing a beautiful necklace whose pendant showed a galloping horse made from silver. The two were holding hands like lovers, and she saw Glorfindel gently caressing the knuckles of the woman's right hand.

But there was more than that. It was changed with her as well. Now in her, there was something filled that she never knew had been empty. There was something so beautiful that didn't understand and did not want to it, for it was magic…

Then it was gone. Glorfindel had turned in Maeglin's direction, she saw. Idril sat down beside her father, her hands folded in her lap.

* * *

 _Lord Glorfindel's POV_

 _'Surely this is friendship…..leaving a friend alone when in need. I all but forgot about you thinking about me, I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. And I promise, Hwa-Young, I'll mend this bridge so we'll never need to break it again._

* * *

 _ **So, what will happen now? What will Glorfindel will do in order to amend things? And what about he will do about the 'electric charge' and what he feels?**_

 _ **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**_


	29. Learning to live in Gondolin

**Hi people around the world! An apologize for the late uploading but I've quite busy as well as my beta friend.**

 **So, here's the next chapter. For those who are wondering when will Laura will start change, here's the answer; and about when her true identity will be known, be patient please… it'll be necessary just one chapter and a half so everyone knows what's her real name.**

 **Meanwhile, I want to thanks specially to Celridel and to all the readers as well as inviting you for leaving your reviews which are the food for this story!**

 **Now… let's see what's going with Laura in Gondolin.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 29: Learning to Live in Gondolin_**

 _*Six Months Later_

The day was warm and the breeze that blew in from Tumladen's field playful, bringing a sweet, dewy scent to the Upper Market. It blew Laura's hair towards her face, and she let it hang there. The fewer Elves who saw her face, the better. She knew what they considered her: 'mortal', 'child', 'stranger.' But neither would she stay in her cottage any longer: the period of confinement had made her restless as a cooped hawk.

So for half a year, she had spent her time wandering around the city, watching its inhabitants, and in her own way, learning what she needed to know of their culture and language.

Little by little, Turgon began to trust her, and over time, he removed her guards. She was still brought food, but Ecthelion had told her this would soon cease, and she would have to learn a trade to buy her own food. That had not pleased Laura very much, since what she knew was being a mercenary and an assassin, and neither of those seemed variable career options at this point.

Another change had come, the worst one of all. Since her cottage was no longer guarded, Glorfindel would no longer come. Those nights they had spent enjoying each other's company, even reluctantly, were over, and she was lonely.

She was so very lonely: a rocky meteoroid in a cosmos full of stars. There was Idril, beautiful beyond beauty, the Lords, especially Ecthelion, with their cold, courteous kindness, the Elves who looked at her and then looked away. So she carried her loneliness in her heart, not noticing it because she was used to its taste.

On this day, the Upper Market was crowded, for in two days, a marriage was going to take place between Vendelle, lady-in-waiting to the Princess; and Ermehtar, a soldier of the Heavenly Arch, and there was much preparation.

Laura watched the Elves, buying an array of beautiful gifts, thinking: _Here I thought human weddings were a big deal_. She was walking away from a booth selling metallurgy when a loose paper caught her eye. She picked it up and saw that the characters there were completely foreign to her. She had crumpled the paper in her hand to examine it later, when a sweet, effervescent voice from behind her said, "Pardon me, but that's mine."

Laura turned to look into large and earnest eyes. It was a young Elf-woman, small and slender, with blue eyes and pale hair.

"Excuse me, but that note is mine. Please give it back to me, " the Elf repeated. Laura sighed and pushed the note at her, but the elleth only smiled.

"Thank you."

Laura nodded shortly and was about to walk away, when the elleth continued, her eyes widening. "Oh! You're…you're the guest!"

Laura nodded again, waiting for the elleth's eyes to say: _So this is what a mortal looks like. So small._ They didn't.

"It's a pleasure to meet you…."

" Hwa -Young," Laura replied, surprised at her enthusiasm.

"It is all my honor!" she exclaimed. "I am Alassë! Oh! Is this not wonderful? At last, I have met a daughter of Men! Come! Come come!" She took Laura by the hand and led her back to a booth stocked with exquisite fruit, whose beautiful colors and sugar-sweet scent made even Laura's mouth water. Alassë took up a cluster of grapes, large, firm, and purple-black, and handed them to Laura. "Here, taste them. What do you think?"

"It's very good," Laura answered, after trying one.

Alassë's smile grew like a spring flower.

"Oh! I am so glad! Here, take them and eat!"

Laura began to eat slowly, with some suspicion but no real worry. She was immune to poison, only confused at the Elf's excitement. When she had finished, she was given an apple as large as her hand, and so large Laura was sure Snow White would have been jealous. But when Alassë gave her a peach, Laura gave it back. The fruit was delicious, but she did not have a single penny to pay for it.

"Thanks, but that's more than enough, Alassë." She paused, sighed, continued. "How much do I owe you?"

Alassë looked at her with astonished disappointment. "Did you not like the fruit?" she asked flatly, all the sparkling joy that had characterized her voice stolen.

"No, no, no, not at all," Laura said quickly. "It's only that….it's only that….I can't pay you for fruit that must be worth a fortune."

Alassë's smile returned, so frankly sweet with a hint of shyness that unexpected warmth rushed through Laura.

"This is the courtesy of the house! It is my welcoming gift to you."

"Welcoming gift," Laura repeated slowly.

"Yes," Alassë replied. "I would have liked to have done the night the King introduced you, but I could not find you. You are special, and you are a stranger, and you need more than welcoming words."

Laura studied the elleth in silence for a minute.

"You're welcoming me…because I am different?" she asked, at last, her voice shocked in softness.

"Yes! The children of Men are different, but that does not mean they are not beautiful. It is only that we blind ourselves because we do not want to see. Sometimes, those who seem the plainest have the most beauty, and I think you, my friend, are one of those."

A smile crossed Laura's face, and she was helpless to stop it.

"How did you say your name again?"

The elleth smiled.

"Alassë."

* * *

Since meeting Alassë, Laura had gone to the market every day, for Alassë's company was pleasant, even for Laura, who thought she was a lover of loneliness. Alassë was bubbly, sweet, full of life while Laura was taciturn and often coarse, but the mutant liked to be with Alassë. There was something about the elleth that brought magic and life to the most mundane things: her childish joy infecting. From her, Laura learned the history of Gondolin: from how Turgon had been told to build it by the Vala Ulmo to the birth of the most recent child. To Laura's question who was named the 'Unnamed One ', Alassë had said only that he was a terrible enemy.

That had not been enough for Laura, so she had asked Alassë to teach her Tengwar.

"Do you want to learn Tengwar?" the Elf asked. "For what reason?"

"I'm curious what that paper said. The one I found the day we met," she elaborated. She wasn't so interested in what the paper said: she wanted to know a fuller history of the Elves.

Alassë laughed.

"Oh! You would not want to read those-they would bore you to tears! They were only my sale notes for the day." She paused, looking at Laura. "Hwa-Young, would you care to sell fruit with me?"

"Sell fruit?" Laura repeated blankly.

" Yes, yes!" Alassë clapped her hands in excitement. "You and I could sell fruit, and I could teach you Tengwar so you can tend to the accounts!"

Laura stood still, searching for words and coming up empty.

"We would be together, my friend! And you would also have a trade!" Alassë was smiling, still dancing from foot to foot.

Laura had discovered the word "no", and was about to say it when Alassë's words finally reached their mark.

"What did you say?" She asked slowly.

"I said that it would be most wonderful if you and I could sell fruit together," Alassë answered.

"No. You said we would be together."

"Oh, yes! We would be together, my dear friend! That makes even more wonderful, do you not agree?"

Laura's surprise crystalized into the cold, calculating suspicion that had been bred into at the Facility.

"So you consider me your friend?"

Alassë was child-like in many regards, but she was also observant and kind. She smiled sweetly and took Laura's hand. "You are my friend, Hwa-Young. Never have any doubt about that."

"But you barely know me."

"I know you enough to know I want you for my friend. Believe me, you can count on my friendship forever, Hwa-Young," Alassë answered simply, and Laura felt her throat tighten. Alassë was telling the truth, telling it true because she could not do anything but.

Carried by a strange impulse, she returned the handclasp, something she had never done before with anyone but Glorfindel. When she did not feel the electric sensation, she filed it away for later thought, but the moment was too important. She swallowed her emotion, and answered, "Alright, but having me as an assistant is the worst decision you have ever made."

"Oh, no matter," Alassë said brightly. "Stay to help me sell the fruit and I'll teach you Tengwar."

Laura smiled.

"It sounds like a square deal to me,"

* * *

 _ **Laura's POV** _

_'It's a strange thing to say, but I am honestly grateful for Alassë. I still don't know if she is my friend….after the way Glorfindel pushed me away. I guess don't know friendship anymore. So I'm afraid to get too attached to Alassë, in case she does it._

 _Alassë is like a girl, in my opinion, bubbly and full of life, things that I will never be, but Alassë makes me laugh. Glorfindel can't be as cheerful as Alassë. God no, he's the first born of Zeus. But still, he was patient and kind, and we could talk together for a long time…._

 _Alassë's funny and talks a lot, sometimes too much, but conversations with her won't be like…_

 _Oh, shut the fuck up. Moving onto more important matters: the King called me a few weeks ago and gave me his ultimatum: I have to find a job because nobody lives for free in Gondolin._

 _' Work makes you worthy,' according to him. The only problem is that I have tried to learn several trades and failed each, like when they took me to the Houses of Healing to put under dear Nestaë. I didn't like her very much, but I guess that makes us square because she doesn't like me either._

* * *

 _Flashback_

"Hwa -Young," Nestaë said when Laura entered. She was small in body, but large in spirit, even Laura could sense that. "The Princess has asked me to teach you the art of Healing. In time, you will come to understand, that this is not only a science but true art." She paused, beckoning for Laura to follow her out of the room. "First, I will get you the garb of an apprentice. And you must pull your hair back from your face. Tie it back, or braid it, cut it if you like."

Laura arched her eyebrows with sardonic amusement and stood where she was, arms crossed over her chest. No nurse was going to order her around, that was all.

Nestaë turned to look at her, an equal sardonic smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Do you not like what I said, Hwa-Young? I am sorry, but it is important for cleanliness's sake to keep your hair away from your face; it identifies us as practitioners of the art-"

"Of the art of Healing," Laura replied, with studied disinterest.

Nestaë's smile grew hard and very cold.

"If you do not care, you do not have to be here. Last I saw, the door was wide open."

 _End of flashback_

* * *

 ** _Laura's POV_**

 _'After this, they tried to make me a clerk and have me transcribe books for Lord Nolandil. It wasn't a total waste of time: I learned a lot about Elven history and culture, and other things. Did you know that Elves write books about how a baby should be made and how is it developed within the elleth matrix? Jesus!_

 _But anyway, I learned a lot, but let's say that I could never get along with Lord Nolandil. The good elf was very jealous of his work.'_

* * *

 _Flashback_

"You will work here, Hwa -Young," Lord Nolandil said, showing her a beautiful study with a desk carved of some rich wood. On it sat a large white quill in a glass inkwell and a ream of thick, cream-colored paper. Sunlight flooded the room.

The Elf, a tall, capable-looking Nando with dark hair and cool grey eyes, motioned to the chair. "Please, sit," he said, his voice modulated and musical. "Your task, as I am sure you already know, will be to transcribe the books I give you. I've heard you can read Tengwar. I would like to see you write it "

Laura took a sheet and dipped the quill in ink. It was easy to write with Alassë because she had taught her through simple sentences, but to write a literary work was another story.

When she finished, Nolandil looked at it and said, "We should begin with writing lessons, I believe. We will start at dawn tomorrow,"

With the help of Nolandil, she managed to learn a style of writing, if not beautiful, was fluid and perfectly legible. However, it was never enough for the master of the library, and little by little, both lost patience with each other.

Finally, after a severe argument, Nolandil dismissed her, saying her calling was decidedly not being a scribe.

Laura only left. She had got what she wanted, so the experience had not been so bad. But once again, it left her without an occupation.

 _End of the flashback_

* * *

 _ **Laura's POV**_

 _'I also tried selling fruit Alassë, but it never worked. I'm not a people person, and I know that, but these goddamn Elves would make hard for even a friendly person. The way they look at you like you're a cute little terrier learning new tricks. My god, I couldn't stand it. So I'm looking for another trade._

 _Gardening? Boring as hell._

 _The Princess suggested music, and I'm sure friend Ecthelion loves to teach that art to anyone who is interested in it, but I do not think he and I would get along well in that situation. And really, I don't want to lose another friend. I can play the harp and sing one song, thanks to Glorfindel, but it's one thing to play a song and the other to be a musician. So no. The only thing I really want to do is be a guard and that's off the list. They would never accept me and, even if they did, I would have to use my mutant skills to keep up with the soldiers. That would never work. I need answers, not questions. I need a damn good answer for why I'm immortal._

 _If only I would find a job that I like ...!_

 _It seems that the friend Goth-Elf is coming, if my nose doesn't deceive me. I doubt he's looking for me, he's not like that. Let's see what he wants._

* * *

 **So, seems that Laura found a new friend which considering her temper was very difficult, imposible to say the least unless it was Lord Glorfindel.**

 **What do you think? What will be the job which finally will get Laura?**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	30. Metals and mortals

**Hi people!**

 **Finally, I've had time for uploading the next chapter! Hope you enjoy it aaaaaand… here we'll know a couple of things very interesting.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys. By the way, those who are wondering when Laura will be discovered: just have a little patience, just another… two chapters and she will be discovered.**

 **Now, after having said this… waiting for your reviews guys and let's go!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 30: Metals and Mortals**_

Lord Maeglin he was walking towards the palace, his thin, symmetrically handsome face set in inscrutable lines. In his hand he held a bracelet, wrapped in linen. It was for Idril, for his cousin, as all things, in the end, always were. His fingers were cold with fear, so it was almost with relief that he hailed the young human walking ahead of him. He needed time to calm down the panicked roar of his heart, and he found Hwa-Young amusing and at times, refreshing.

"Hwa-Young! Come!"

The black-haired woman whirled around towards him. "Lord Maeglin! I did not hear you."

Maeglin nodded. "Elves tread softly."

Laura's mouth twitched in a sour smile. "I'm sure."

"You seem preoccupied," Maeglin continued. "What worries you?"

The woman shrugged irritably. "I'm not worried, just a little…angry. I can't find a trade anywhere. Nothing works out."

Maeglin was mildly surprised. "Why not? I seem to me as an intelligent and capable person. After all, you learned Quenya and Sindarin, as I have heard, by yourself."

Laura smiled, honestly flattered. "Finally, an Elf who looks me in the eye instead down their nose! You're very wise, Lord Maeglin."

Maeglin laughed, and Laura continued, "It's true, I learned Quenya and Sindarin by myself, but….well, I tried apprenticing myself to the healers, and Nestaë and I did not get along well; I tried to be a clerk and Lord Nolandil laughed at my handwriting. They have taught me how to harvest and garden, which is the most boring thing I've done in my life. I've tried vending with my friend Alassë and it didn't work either."

"Why?" He asked curiously. "If a friend was teaching you, it would be much easier, would it not?"

"Let's say you guys don't really trust me," she replied. "They acted like I was going to poison them."

"Sometimes it seems like that's what you are planning," he agreed.

Laura crossed her arms, arching her brow sardonically. "Claro" ella dijo "mira quién lo dice""Sure," she said. "Looks who's talking,"

Lord Maeglin only smiled laconically. He was about to wish her farewell, when the woman widened her eyes. "I have an idea! You and your house are the architects and blacksmiths, right? And I have a talent for metallurgy-you said so yourself!"

"That's true," Maeglin agreed. "But raw talent doesn't always suffice."

"Well, I'll have the best teacher: you." When Maeglin chuckled, she continued resentfully, "I'm not joking!"

"I know," Maeglin answered seriously. "But no one has ever wanted to be apprenticed to me."

Laura shrugged. "Maybe not. Maybe that's because no one pays attention," she said, a little surprised at herself

Maybe she and Lord Maeglin were closer than it seemed at first look.

"Thank you. Here, tell me. What do you think of this?" he asked, unwrapped the bracelet. It was made of silver filigree, twisted together so it seemed to flow and move. Jewels were inset in it: an emerald of rare dark hue, an amethyst violet as a silent dusk, a ruby the color of crystallized blood, a sapphire that was a bright bold blue, and in each stone was carefully carved a six-pointed star. Laura drew in her breath sharply. "It's beautiful."

"Not as lovely as the Celebrindal," Maeglin said in a low, wistful voice. "Do you think she will find it beautiful, Hwa-Young?"

"Um ... I guess so. I mean, it's very pretty and, well…I really do not know what the Princess likes," she said awkwardly, recalling the rumors that said Maeglin was madly in love with is cousin.

"She accepts them always, but she never wears them," he continued, his voice low and hot. "I try and I try…oh gods, how I try, to make my works as beautiful….as perfect as she is, but it is like comparing a lump of granite to a pearl!" He paused, breathing hard. "I'm sorry, Hwa-Young. You didn't need to hear that. I'll go now: may the Válar favor me. Que tengas una bendecida noche"Have a blessed night."

"Likewise, Lord Maeglin,"

He ha He had taken a few of steps when he turned and said,

"As for what you have told me, Hwa -Young…. I will talk to my second in command." Then he left, and Laura, turning back to help Alassë pack up her fruit, and when she thought of the Princess, she found she felt compassion instead of a jealousy.

* * *

" Well, Hwa -Young, have you found a trade?" asked Alassë as they put the little fruit that was left in baskets. The stars were coming out as they worked, and night birds were beginning to sing.

"Um…..no."  
"Why not?" the elleth asked, sounding honestly surprised.

"I haven't found one that I like. Or that likes me," Laura answered, cynicism sharpening her voice.

"Hwa-Young, aquí las cosas son diferentes a tu paí ë sighed, putting her hands on her waist like a mother scolding an errant child. "Hwa -Young, things are different now. From what you've told me, North Korea is a world I can't even imagine, but you don't live there any longer. You live here, in Gondolin, and you need to adapt as well as you can."

Laura scoffed. She made that sound easy. "Don't scold me, alright? Yesterday I talked with Lord Maeglin, and he said he would accept me as an apprentice to his house…or something like that."

"Lord Maeglin?" Alassë's voice was slightly higher pitched than normal.

"Sí."Yes. It was kind of him to accept me, because…. I wasn't always the nicest towards him."  
"I'm not surprised he did: Lord Maeglin is very kind and very noble," Alassë answered, reaching over the booth to pick up a basket of peaches, so her face was hidden by her hair.

Laura leaned against the opposite edge of the booth. "Oh? You know him?"

"Would that I did!" Alassë answered. "But no….I am both Sindarin and a commoner. Oh, these peaches are all bruised. We should go-"

"Do you like Lord Maeglin?" Laura asked.

Alassë blushed in the starlight. "Gods, no!"

"No, you do not like him. You're in love with him, right, Alassë?" Laura said with a smile.

"No!"

"Oh, give it up, Alassë! You're in love with him. You all but confessed it to me."

"You…. you will not tell him?" Alassë asked finally, reaching over the wooden stand and taking Laura's hands.

"Why not? Don't you want him to know?" Laura asked.

Alassë looked terrified at the idea. "No! Hwa-Young, you can't! It will be a joke to him…"

"Maeglin is not like that," Laura said quickly.

"No, I know. I know. But don't you understand, Hwa-Young?" Alassë answered, with tears in her eyes. "I have no chance. I am a commoner, a Sindarin commoner. Do you know what the Noldor think of us? Woodland savages! How do you think he would see me?" She paused, gulping in air in ragged sobs. "Since he came, he has seemed so kind, so intelligent! And folks call him "the Bastard Prince" or "Dark Elf" o-or "Son of Shadows"!" She paused again, wiping tears from her cheeks. "I don't know why he's mistreated, but if I could…. I would show him that the twilight is twice as beautiful as the day!"

Laura leaned over and put a hand on Alassë's shoulder. "I've never really wanted to be a matchmaker. I won't say anything. It's not my business, it's yours."

She said this in a tone of finality that she hoped would comfort Alassë, but only hurt her. Secretly, the Elf-maid had hoped that maybe Laura would speak to Lord Maeglin. How else would he even know that she existed? If she ever wanted to speak to him, she would have to do it on her own, and she knew she did not have the courage for that.

* * *

Twilight was falling blushing Vàsa smiling at the moon-rise, as she hides her face below the Echoriath, although her arms, gold and violet, yet lingering in the sky.

Glorfindel was walking through the Great Market, watching this sunset. Above all else, he loved to wander through this white city. City, yes, but it was more than that. It was a song in his bones, a song of nurture and safety that was loud and sweet. Gondolin was built out of marble, but it was also built out of tears and blood and memory, and some of those were his.

So, he walked often through the city, whenever his duties permitted him this, and greeted all the Gondolindrim he passed.

So, it was with a jolt that he saw Hwa-Young in the market, working with a small, golden-haired _elleth_ to pack away the booth for a night. He was surprised and also pleased to see how the woman wished the elleth a good night, and was about to go over and greet her, when Hwa-Young began to walk away.

He followed her at a safe distance, but a painful pang of jealously surprised him when he saw her round the corner of a street and greet Maeglin. Jealously grew into anger when he saw them talking together and when he saw her smile.

They were talking about, it was clear that Hwa-Young harmonized with Maeglin, and that did not please him. He had opened her shell, but Maeglin was reaping the fruit of his labors.

But even in the turmoil of his emotions, Glorfindel recognized that he was, in a way, the culprit. He had pushed her away without the justice of a reason, and he had done ill.

 _"I have done you a wrong,"_ he told himself. _"But I will compensate you,_ _Hwa_ _-Young._ _I will not do the same again."_

He left the market.

* * *

"He's gone," Maeglin announced suddenly.

"What?"

"Lord Glorfindel is gone,"

"Lord Glorfindel? He was here? " Laura asked, feigning surprise.

Maeglin only smiled. "You knew he was here, Hwa-Young. Sometimes I think you are a very good performer, and sometimes I think you are a very bad one."

Laura ignored the last comment. "What makes you think I knew Lord Glorfindel was following me?"

"Why did you talk to me?" he retorted.

"Um, because I want to learn metallurgy," she replied, as if speaking to an idiot child.  
"Or is it because you want to make Lord Glorfindel jealous?" Maeglin asked in the same tone. Laura's insolent façade slipped for a moment under her surprised, and Maeglin smiled languidly.

"How did you know that I knew Lord Glorfindel was watching us?" Laura rejoined after a minute.

"Why else would you talk to me right now?"

"Why else? Because I haven't seen you all day. It's not like you go into the city very often…"

Maeglin looked at her under raised eyebrows, inviting her to finish her sentence, but Laura changed the topic. "I felt someone following me. Even if I couldn't hear him," she finished curtly. "Mortals can do that, and a little more. But if you're asking why I didn't confront him, it's because I really don't care."

Maeglin's shrug was apathetic, but he was mildly curious. All the Lords knew she and Glorfindel had spent time together, and so all knew that they had suddenly stopped.

"I don't care because he doesn't care," Laura added after a few moments. "He pushed me away."

"So, you'll do the same?"

Laura nodded.

"It's not always wise to do that. Friends aren't easy to find."

It was Laura's turn to shrug. "I have to go, Lord Maeglin. We mortals must sleep every day."

Maeglin did not rise to the bait. "Have a blessed night, then."

"Likewise, Lord Maeglin."

* * *

 _LordMaeglin'sPOV_

 _'_ _This woman is strange._ _._ _She is willing to lose a friendship as long as she does not lose the war she imagines to be_ _._ _She is wrong: winning a war is nothing, because there is never a prize. Only loss._

 _Like I am losing Idril. Once she loved me, I think, once she tolerated me, now she hates me. I feel it. But then, who could blame her?_

 _Válar, aid me._

* * *

 **So, what do you think about what happened between Alassë and Laura? And what will Lord Glorfindel will do for compensating the damage he did in his friendship with Laura?**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys!**


	31. Viento Nocturno

**Hi guys!**

 **I'm sorry for the delay but I have had problems for uploading chapters and finally, it seems that I'll be able to upload again without having problems with my chapter. Hopefully this time it won't get any problems.**

 **So... let's see what decided to do Lord Glorfindel in regard of what happened between he and Laura. As well as another relationship will start appear.**

 **By the way, this is the first of the two last chapters where Laura still is called by her fictional name. Give me time and finally she will be discovered.**

 **Now, after having saying this… let's go!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 31: 'Viento Nocturno'**_

During the following days, Glorfindel had often visited Laura's cottage, often in the evening, because during the day, it was near impossible to find her. She had found a strange refuge in Maeglin, a new friendship that did not please Glorfindel. He was honest enough to recognize his own prejudice towards the young Mole, but he thought it was grounded in truth.

But she never came out to greet him when he called. Glorfindel knew she both heard and recognized his voice, and was willfully ignoring him. It astonished him. He had never imagined that such a thing would happen, he would never have imagined that he would hurt her so much. So he thought long and hard about what he could do save their vanishing bond.

* * *

"Hwa-Young? Are you here?"

Alassë's sweet voice echoed emptily around the huge forge of the Mole. It was an enormous place, with a solid, earthy feel to it. There was a kind of chaotic order to it, something that said its master could find what he wanted in the snap of a finger, while it would take others years. Alassë believed Maeglin spent more time here than anywhere else.

"Can I help you?"

The voice was a soft baritone, reverberating through her bones. Alassë looked around, and her breath caught in her throat as the blood rushed to her head. Maeglin must have seen the shock on her face, for he smiled slightly.

"Welcome. I do not often see my kin in the forges." His voice was rich, magnetically compelling.

"Your kin?" she managed.

He shrugged as if to say, _let us not quibble._ "Half my kin," he amended. "But were you searching for someone?"

"Yes. Yes," Alassë answered, combing her mind for words. "I was….looking for Hwa-Young, my lord. I don't know if you have seen her."

"I'm afraid she is busy at the moments. Perhaps you could come another time?" he suggested.

"Oh, that would please me, but Lord Glorfindel is searching for her. Perhaps I could give her the message. It wouldn't take long," Alassë added, smiling shyly.

Lord Maeglin was taken a back. It was not often he was gifted with smile. Alassë was looking at him hopefully, and he thought her eyes were very blue. Not the hue of Idril's eyes. No, they were lighter, warmer, a bright cornflower blue that glowed with life. So he called Laura, who appeared after a few minutes, with dirty hands and sweat on her forehead.

"What is it, Lord Maeglin?" she asked. Then she saw Alassë, and began to smirk. "Your friend ..." Maeglin turned to the elleth questioningly.

"Alassë" she said, smiling.

"Alassë, has brought a message for Lord Glorfindel."

"I don't have time to talk to him," Laura snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Maeglin looked at her silently, and after a few minutes Laura sighed. "Alright. Let me get my stuff."

After they were alone, Alassë said, "You are very convincing, my Lord. She can be quite stubborn when she wants to be."

Maeglin nodded, his voice polite. "How long have you known her?"

"A few months. She is an excellent friend, although a little strange," Alassë said, her intrinsic cheerfulness prevailing over her fear.

"Yes, she is strange," Maeglin agreed. "But it takes all types to make a world, does it not?" He found himself talking freely, and actually wanting to talk to this young _Sinda._

Alassë nodded, smiling. "Indeed it does. All types, from all different upbringings. Where would be the color in this little mosaic of ours if we were all the same?"

Maeglin was about to answer when Laura appeared again, cleaner, although there were still smudges on her hand.

"Until tomorrow Lord Maeglin. Have a blessed day," she said.

"Likewise, Hwa -Young."

"May you have a blessed day, my lord," Alassë smiled, curtseying.

"Likewise, Alassë,"

The elleth smiled and followed Laura out of the forge.

Lord Maeglin watched them go until they were out of sight.

* * *

"So it looks like your dream came too," Laura declared playfully.

"Oh! He is so courteous and gentle," sighed Alassë. She was shaking slightly as she walked, and felt her head spinning as if she had drunk too much of a rich wine.

"And did you tell him what you feel for him?"

Alassë looked at Laura like the woman was the greatest fool Eä had ever suffered. "No! Of course not!"

Laura smiled. "I heard part of what you said to him, Alassë. That took guts, my friend, and I'm proud of you for that."

Alassë looked down. "You would have done it too,"

"I would have done it because I don't care."

"That's a lie."

Laura turned sharply on her Sinda friend, who had stopped walking. "You care. You care about Glorfindel. I know you did, because you were hurt when he pushed you away. You care about Maeglin. And I think you also care what I think. Don't you?" Alassë demanded.

Laura cursed internally. She had changed so much over these three and half years. Was it good? Was it bad? And she wondered if it was bad because sometimes it hurt.

"Look!" Alassë exclaimed, pointing towards her booth. "Glorfindel is waiting for you!"

"I'm not going," Laura answered. She could deal with pain, but she wasn't a sadist. She didn't need to keep changing.

"Yes, you are." Alassë answered firmly. "You will go, and you will be well-dressed."

"What?"

Alassë stooped and plucked a white rose from the hedge, and tucked it carefully behind Laura's rounded ear.

"You deserved that," Alassë whispered, and pushed her towards Glorfindel.

 _By the Vàlar! She looks beautiful!_ the Elf-Lord thought, amazed. Laura stood in the street, confused and embarrassed. When she caught Glorfindel's eyes, she blushed against her will.

Alassë, already several steps away, waved at her. "I must sell my fruit now, Hwa-Young."

Laura was about to call after her, but Glorfindel's voice made her stop and turn. "Hwa-Young, would you come with me?"

* * *

 _Lord Glorfindel's POV_

 _'By_ _the_ _Válar! I could not have imagined this woman could look so beautiful! The rose her Sinda friend gave her makes her look so different, and the emotion on her face…..Hwa-Young, you look pretty when you blush-_

 _It doesn't matter, of course it does not. I am here to repair our friendship. After all, we are friends, and nothing but that._

* * *

 _Laura's_ _POV_

 _Alassë and I will talk very seriously. Putting flowers in my hair…bullshit! What do you think I am? Some dumbass Elf? I don't need to look pretty for Glorfindel, and I don't need to assimilate._

 _Blondie looked so surprised. Yeah, who would have that? Your tough little mortal, dancing around with flowers in her hair. But he looks kinda cute with his mouth hanging open._

 _Oh crap! What's happening to me? It's like the time he gave me the braid, and I kept it, idiot I am. For God's sake, Laura, he's not even a friend. Get yourself together.'_

* * *

" And why should I do it, Lord Glorfindel?" Laura asked.

"I want to show you something," he answered.

Laura crossed her arms and smiled. "I don't care."

"Hwa-Young-"  
"Don't call me that!" "

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise, not at the outburst, but at the flare of emotion that made the woman's voice crack. "What do you want me to call you?"

"I don't. I want you to just leave me alone," she snapped at him.

"What if I was going to apologize?" he asked evenly. "What if I asked you to forgive me for pushing you away? What if I said that in token of my regret, I wanted to show you something?"

He saw her reluctance, but the words seemed dragged out of her. "Where are we going?"  
"Down to the north side of the city."

"Why the hell are we going there?"

"You'll see," he said, smiling.

Laura rolled her eyes, but Glorfindel paid no attention to it. "Come on," he said, and began to walk.

* * *

Laura was drinking in the sights greedily. She was seeing what she had not seen for a long time: hundreds of horses, beautiful horses lovingly cared for. Each horse had its own wide stable with straw and fresh water, and an entrance out into a green paddock. There was no saddles or reins in sight, which caught her attention.

"Elves do not need these things," Glorfindel explained. "We understand our horses, so we can work together."

"How do you do that? I mean, horses are intelligent, but they aren't telepaths," Laura asked, really curious.

Glorfindel gestured, and they both approached a snow-white horse, full-flanked and strong-limbed.

"This is Valocco. He knows when I need him to charge or run. We are friends. We look out for each other's good." He reached up and tugged the stallion's forelock gently, and whispered something in his ear. Then he turned to Laura. "I've told him to greet you. Don't be nervous."  
Laura raised her eyebrows. "Why would I be afraid of a horse?" She approached the stallion, and lifted a hand for the horse to smell. After a minute she began to caress Valocco, who whinnied and nuzzled the woman's hair in answer. She chuckled, and Glorfindel smiled.

"Well meet, Valocco","she said

" Come," Lord Glorfindel said after a moment, "I want to show you this."

He led her out of the stables to a huge corral, where several dozen horses were grazing.

"The Elves do not choose our horses, our horses choose us. Whichever one chooses you will be yours."

Laura looked up at Glorfindel, surprise widening her eyes. "You are…..giving me a horse?" she asked slowly.

Glorfindel nodded. "You love horses, do you not? You could ride it around the city, and perhaps I could accompany you sometimes on Valocco."

Laura's face lit up with a girlish joy, and she had to hold back an impulse to embrace Glorfindel. She smiled at him gratefully and climbed over the corral to approach a cream-colored mare that was grazing near the fence. Glorfindel watched her from the other side.

The animal looked up at Laura and snorted. Laura crouched down a few steps away from the horse, extending her hand slowly. After a minute, the horse sniffed it slowly. She stood as Laura prepared to mount her, but at the last minute thought the better of it, and wheeled sharply away, so that Laura tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

Glorfindel laughed aloud, and Laura wrinkled her nose at him, leaping to her feet. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

Laura moved from on horse to the next, and each time, the story was the same, until Glorfindel finally said, "Hwa-Young, just let them choose you .Horses are intelligent beings, only be patient."

Laura sighed, wiping grass stains from her hands on to her tunic. "I know horses are smart. Otherwise one of them would have chosen me." She shook her head, and began to comb the dust and grass from her hair. "I'm a lost cause. Thank you for the thought, but…."

A shrill neigh made them both jerk, and then a hubbub of Elven voices arose. A black mare was galloping through the corral, glossy as silk, muscles moving fluidly as she ran. After a minute, she paused, looking back scornfully at the stable hands.

"Who is that?" Laura asked.

"She doesn't have a name. We've never been able to tame her." Glorfindel answered. "And…..Hwa-Young, what are you doing now?"

Laura had left Glorfindel and approached the mare. She was already in love with it: that mare would be hers, no matter the cost.

"Hwa-Young!" Glorfindel called in a harsh whisper, but Laura ignored him. The mare was beginning to prance again, ears laid back. "Hey, easy there, girl," Laura said softly. "Calm down. I said calm down, don't you understand?" Her voice was becoming harder as the mare ignored her for the third time.

The mare rushed her, but at the last moment, Laura ducked to the side and seized the horse's mane, swinging easily on top. The horse reared on its hind legs, whinnying furiously. Laura clung to her back like a limpet as it began to buck and caper. Finally, the mare buckled her front legs and rolled, trying to trap the woman. Laura leapt nimbly out of the way, never letting go of the horse's mane, although her hand was pinned under the horse's back in doing so. Both horse and woman lay on the ground, eye to eye.

After a long moment, Laura let go. The mare shook itself and stood up. Laura did likewise.

"Peace?" the woman asked.

In answer, the mare snorted and nosed Laura's head. The woman laughed. "Yeah, that was a good rodeo. Now, you need a name." She put one hand on each side of the horse's face, so their foreheads touched.

"Good idea," Laura announced at last, and then turned and began to walk towards Glorfindel, the mare following close behind.

"Let me introduce you to my horse," Laura told him. "We're challenging you to a race."

* * *

If Laura's speed and agility had surprised Glorfindel, he was equally surprised at her horse's speed and spirit.

Valocco had found a formidable opponent, and even though his stride was longer, Laura's mare was never far behind, and they had gone rushing through the Tumladen grasses side by side.

The mare had put on a sudden burst of speed, pulling ahead of the stallion by a little, and at a whisper word from Laura, rise up on her hind legs, pawing at the air. Valocco swerved sharply to avoid a collision, skidding to an ungraceful halt so that Glorfindel nearly fell off. Laura laughed, dismounting.

"Karma," she announced cheerfully.

"Cheating," Glorfindel returned.

"No, that was karma. It's justice."

"Justice?"

"Yeah. You laughed at me when I fell on my ass. Now it's my turn. You know what? I'm going to name her _'Viento Nocturno'_."

"What does that mean?"

" _'Night Wind'_. Doesn't it fit?""

Glorfindel smiled. The name fit perfectly. He was looking around, for to him, watching the sun set over the Echoriath would never grow old, when Laura said,

"I forgot! Here is your consolation prize!" She took the white rose, now crushed and bruised, from her windblown hair.

"I'll take it with pride," Glorfindel said. "I prize the creations of Kementári above all gold."

Laura laughed incredulously. "You're not really going to put it in your hair?!"

"Why not?" He asked, amused at her astonishment.

"You're kidding me! It's crushed and bruised!"

"Would you give me my consolation prize, please?" he asked, holding out his hand. The woman shook her head and gave him the rose. Their hands brushed.

Again, time stopped, the presence of both horses disappeared, the wind stopped blowing, the stream was not heard, there was nothing and nobody but them in that glass bubble. And once again, it was Laura who broke the charm by jerking her hand away, so the rose fell on the ground. Her voice was angry and cold. "What the hell is going on here? And you better give me a good explanation, or we are going to have a problem."

* * *

 **So, seems that Maeglin is not considered as the 'Bastard Prince' for everyone in Gondolin, seems that Maeglin finds that there can be someone who is not annoying to talk with.**

 **Seems that Lord Glorfindel is starting to even think that Laura is beautiful and seems that Laura is starting to change… a lot. Will she allow to keep changing or will she enclose to her shell again? And what answer will the Elf-lord will tell her?**

 **Waiting for your reviews guys, they're the utmost important!**


	32. Music against sword

**Hi people around the world… again!**

 **So, after several set backs and the whole thing, here I am... and this time I want to tell to all my dear readers that this chapter was written completely by the best beta, Celridel. I want you to remind you that this story is being checked by Celridel due English is not my native tongue; but this time, she wrote all the chapter. So, enjoy it and waiting for your reviews, guys! They're very important for us…!**

* * *

 **Chapter 32:** _ **Music Against Sword**_

"Oh, no." She sighed and put the paintbrush down on the lip of the easel. Ardyl rubbed his head against her cheek comfortingly. He was a bird no larger than a clump of thistle-down, and a soft blue, with black-and-white checkered wings. "I'm sorry, Ardyl," Elyéta said, raising a hand to rub his head. "Your portrait isn't ruined, of course. It's only that…..I don't have the heart right now. But I'll finish it soon."

On the portrait, a blot of white paint marred Ardyl's blue head-feathers. The shadows that had danced on it, cast by the tree above her, disappeared with the sun. Elyéta sighed again, picked up her brush and then laid it back down. Anger was a ball of white heat in her stomach, and she wanted to let it out, to break the brush, rip the canvas in half.

Linwë had no right. That was the simple truth he couldn't understand. It was her life, not his. She had told him that she loved Duilin and that she was certain he loved her.

And Linwë had laughed. The bastard had dared to _laugh_. Angry tears had begun to trickle from her unwilling eyes, and he had stopped laughing then, but it was too late.

' _Elyéta,_ ' he began, taking her hands in his. _'Elyéta, I'm sorry. I did not intend to hurt you-'_

She wrenched her hands out of his grasp and fled down the palace corridor. _'You did!'_ she flung back at him over her shoulder. _'You did hurt me, even after they told you…they told you to keep me safe!'_

Those words were the deadliest dart she could have used against her brother, and she knew it, although she never said, or even thought to say it before that moment.

* * *

"Elyéta? Elyéta?"

The tree under which she was painting was a colossal weeping willow, with a trunk three times her arm span. Its long branches brushed the grass, forming a natural curtain that she could not be seen through. It was Ardyl's soft, bubbling song that gave her away. Duilin was the master of birds. He loved them, and he knew their tongue. What it was Ardyl gave away Elyéta never knew, but it brought Duilin through the silver curtain to stand before her.

"Little traitor," she said, without real anger. Ardyl flew to a low hanging branch, and perched there, warbling contentedly to himself.

"Elyéta, we need to speak."

She smiled tiredly at him. Her anger was draining away and with it all her normal vivacity. She felt very dull as if all her feelings and her thoughts had suddenly faded, becoming lackluster. "We do, my lord."

He shook his head impatiently. "Elyéta, please. Both of us know we are beyond this lording business. I need to speak with you about your…Elyéta!"

She felt his wave of concern reach out and touch her heart, warming it. She was not crying, but she was very close to it. Duilin reached her with one long stride and put his hands on her shoulders. She had never realized how warm and comforting he smelled. His simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through her veins, their fluttering wings easing the anger and regret that had settled inside her. "Elyéta, tell me!" he demanded, his gaze hot and intense. "If someone hurt you, I swear-"

"Please, no. I talked to Li…my brother," she said thickly. "And we fought." Hysteria was beginning to fragment her voice. She had _fought_ with Linwë. His smell, like pines and firs, and a little of sweat beneath, rooted her again. "I fought with Linwë," she repeated, more calmly this time. "But you cannot hurt him. Please, you have to promise." She tilted her face up towards his. "He's only trying to help, and you cannot be angry someone for that."

"You were."

She winced at this, although it was not said as a rebuke. "I can be wrong too," she replied, trying to sound teasing.

Duilin looked at her, eyebrows knit together and she felt his concern touch her again. "Elyéta…I cannot take up any quarrel with Linwë. It ould hurt you. And I cannot hurt you…..I would rather die than hurt you!" he finished in an impetuous rush.

Her eyes widened; she placed her hand against his chest. "Don't say those things unless you mean them."

"I mean them!" he exclaimed earnestly. "Elyéta, I've never said words I meant more!"

The rising wind blew their hair back from their faces. She suddenly looked down, dropping her hand. "Duilin, I am honored that you would lay down your life for me, but it's not-it's not-this is for fairytales. You're a lord and lords wed…they don't wed folks like me."

"Then look at what they lost," Duilin said, recapturing her hands before they could link behind her back. "Elyéta, do you think I care that you were born in one house and I was born in another? Why does it matter?"

"Duilin, you are a noble-"

"Ungoliant take that like she took the Two Trees! Do you think I care about that, Elyéta? I would go anywhere, do anything, to be with you!"

There was a silence as he lost himself in her smile, soft and sweet and surprised. He suddenly understood that he wanted to see that smile forever. So he made his decision in the blink of an eye, and a cosmos opened up to him. "I must tell you something."

Her gaze was warm, expectant, trusting. "Then tell me."

Duilin drew in a deep breath, and let in out with a shuddering sigh. "Elyéta, what I am about to say…it might…..seem-"

"Lord Duilin?"

The Swallow-Lord turned almost savagely on the page: a young Noldo _ellon_ who jumped nimbly backward. "What is it?"

"The King called a meeting, my Lord."

"Did Balrogs invade the Great Market and steal all the goods?" Duilin growled. Elyéta was trying to pull her hands away, seeing the page's fear transform into amazement as his gaze widened to take in her. Duilin held them captive in a gentle grip, keeping his eyes locked on the page's. "Well, what is it, Maethor?"

"I'm not privy to the details, my lord," Maethor said serenely. "All I know is that it is a pressing matter. I apologize for the interruption. May your day continue to be blessed." He bowed and pushed through the willow branches.

Duilin looked at Elyéta, brought her hands up and kissed them, ignoring the thwarted rage that began to burn in his belly. "I will tell you later then."

She smiled at him, and her smile lit up her face. "Keep rehearsing them."

He nodded at her and grinned back. "I have them all by heart." Then he ducked under the branches and was gone, leaving Elyéta alone with her ruined painting.

* * *

The only sound in the Council chamber was the soft sound of Duilin's pacing. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the grey horizon. The sky was pregnant with thunder and laden with lightning, and the air was inundated with the mystic frisson that always precedes a huge thunderstorm. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up from it.

He didn't notice: the storm approaching from outside could hardly dream of matching the maelstrom in his head. His thoughts were murky, confused, ricocheting from polar extremes. Anger at Linwë, at the page, at the King who called a council and then did not come. Love, because Elyéta existed and he could touch her. And fear. Yes, fear. Duilin had not been afraid often in his short life. He had been given the lion's share of courage, and of rashness. But he was afraid now, because he thought he had held their moment in his hands, and then let it go. He had wanted to give her his soul, and in exchange, he had gotten this silent chamber.

Outside, thunder grumbled far away. He watched clouds scud across the sky, black-bottomed keelboats running high and heavy. His hands were clenched into fists, the tendons on his tightly muscled arms standing out in stark relief against his brown skin.

"Duilin! I did not expect to see you here."

Duilin spun quickly, jerked suddenly out of inner chaos. "Egalmoth! At last!"

"At last?" the other lord asked curiously.

Duilin frowned at him. "At last, yes. The King summoned an urgent council."

"Duilin," Egalmoth said gently, "I think you should know that the King is playing chess with his daughter. There is no need for a council. All is quiet-I should know, I just returned from my watch. I think you were the victim of a prank, my frie-"

"Not a prank!" Duilin roared. His voice flew around the silent arches like a fiery whip-crack. "Oh, gods! The lying cockalorum-"

"Duilin."

"The bastard!" Duilin raked his hands through his hair, eyes blazing. "I am such a fool-"

"Duilin!" Egalmoth's voice rang out authoritatively. "Calm yourself!"

Duilin's laugh was taut and dangerous. "Calm myself? _Calm myself?!_ "

"Duilin, talk to me." Egalmoth was one of the finest horse-trainers in the city because he had the perfect balance of calm authority and thoughtful kindness. Duilin, although he would have never admitted it in ten thousand years, relied on Egalmoth to rein in his anger like he reined in a wild horse.

Duilin drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Linwë. It was a ploy to get me away from his sister."

Egalmoth looked at him in surprise. "Sister?" He watched a strange, sweet expression cross Duilin's narrow features. "Aye, sister. She is the most beautiful thing in the world, Egalmoth. And honey looks bitter besides her!" Duilin's eloquent face changed again, back to wrath. "But her brother is a strutting bastard. And after what he did-"

"Duilin," Egalmoth broke in. "Do not promise anything too rash. This Linwë you speak of, is he is Linwë the Silver-Tongued?"

Duilin snorted. "Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn't. Linwë the Liar is what I call him."

Egalmoth carried on. "If this _elleth_ is Linwë's sister, my friend, I think you should be careful what you do or say to him."

"Elyéta would understand!"

"If you killed him, or even put him in the Healing Houses? I think not."

Duilin paused for a moment, his eyes considering. Then he shook his head. "Egalmoth, if you knew what he has done, you would not be advocating for him."

"I'm not advocating for him, I'm advocating for you, and for your Elyéta." Egalmoth returned. "Talk to this Linwë, threaten if you want-words are wind, but remember that family has a bond that isn't broken easily. And remember one other thing: I think he is only trying to care for Elyéta. You need to convince him that you have always loved his little sister."

"I need to convince him of nothing!" Duilin flamed.

"I think you do," Egalmoth retorted. "I said convince him that you love Elyéta and make this easier for all of you."

"At times I think you are a milksop, Egalmoth," Duilin answered mildly, but he looked eager to be off.

Egalmoth shook his head, concerned. "Duilin-"

The other held up his hand. "I am not deaf: you do not need to repeat yourself. Thank you for your council."

Egalmoth sighed. "Duilin, just remember this. I am your friend."

Duilin turned from the doorway, and his face softened. "Egalmoth, that is one thing I would lay my life on. I know at times it must seem that I only come to you for counsel, but it is because I find your council the wisest in the city. I will come back in the evening."

The other smiled, "I wish you all the luck of the stars, my friend!"

Duilin, already darting down the hallway, called back, "And the same to you!" Then in a lower voice, he muttered, "And the same to Linwë, for he'll need it more than I."

* * *

He went to the House of the Swallow first. Unlike most Lords, the Swallow roosted with his soldiers, and not in the palace.

His second in command, a small and wiry runner with black hair braided harshly back from her face, called Rámalë, nodded to him. "It is good to see you again, my lord. It has been a while."

Duilin arched an eyebrow at her. "Do not say you have missed me,"

Rámalë snorted. "Feeding your vanity is the last thing I need to do. There is a message for you in your quarters, my lord."

Duilin, already on the winding stairs that led to his rooms, turned back to her hopefully. "Who delivered it?"

She shrugged. "I did not see."

Duilin turned on his heel and darted up the flight, taking the steps in gigantic bounds. Outside, the fading stormy light was disappearing. He opened his door to find a flattened roll of creamy parchment pushed under the gap. He snatched it up, already thinking it was from Elyéta, and read.

 _Swallow, my sister's heart is not glass, so do not break it._

 _Swallow, my sister's love is not dear to you, so forsake it._

 _She is naught to you but a savory before the main course_

 _Naught to you but a flower to be crushed without remorse_

 _You seek to take a hold upon her heart, and then deceive it_

 _You seek to betray her, to win her loyalty and then leave it_

 _To shatter her glass heart, and twist the shards into her chest_

 _Use lies and veiled mockery to induce agony into her breast_

 _You seek to lead her down a path with heartbreak at the end_

 _Beguile her with roses, then betray her to thorns as you pretend_

 _You are no swift-flying bird, Swallow. You are naught but a cur_

 _How many times have you broken glass hearts before?_

Below it was signed a name, but Duilin did not read it. His rage was bitter but immensely satisfying. He was angrier then he had ever been his life before, but instead of fire, his monstrous fury had crystallized into ice. He folded the parchment, placed it in his belt, and left the House quietly.

* * *

He already knew where Linwë lived. He had asked Lord Ecthelion in private, in an attempt to find out more about Elyéta, and had learned that the two lived in a stone house on the northern shoulder of the citadel.

Duilin knew the city better than most and found the house without trouble. It was a small and many-windowed house, fronted along its whole width by a pillared porch and a flight of steps down to the street. There was no rain yet, but the wind was still rising, laughing like a loon among the pillars. Things stood out in a kind of dreamlike steely relief: shadowless, clear, chiseled.

Linwë looked up from where he sat on the steps, his lyre between his knees. "Hail, Lord Duilin," he said quietly. "What brings you down to mingle with the common-bloods?"

Duilin smiled, a hard and bright desert smile, like dry sun winking off mica, and came to the bottom of the steps. "I received your message," he answered, and held up the parchment. The wind tried to pull it from his hands. Still smiling, Duilin tore it in half and threw it to the gale. Linwë watched it go, and then looked back. "So I see."

"How strange you happened to be there in the gardens," Duilin continued.

"Coincidence," Linwë remarked, with apparent unconcern. He strummed a few notes on his lyre, and the wind hurled them away.

"I do not believe in coincidences. The Weaver does not weave carelessly," Duilin continued.

"No?"

"No."

There was a cold silence. Thunder roared, closer now, and they both see the chilly white light as lightning struck over Tumladen.

"Are you waiting for an apology?" Linwë asked. He was still playing. The tune was hard to pick out over the gusting of the wind, but Duilin thought it was the same melody that he had played during Turuhalmë.

"No," he replied. "That would be too little, and far too late."

"Is that a threat, Lord Duilin?" Linwë shook his head rebukingly, his hands gliding over the lyre strings. His tone was calmly instructional. "Remember, you are a noble."

Duilin leaped on the stairs to stand directly in front of the minstrel. "I'm not here."

Linwë shook his head again and looked down at his lyre. "Yes, you are. You are anywhere. And that's why you think you can play with my sister's heart."

"Look at me when you say that," Duilin growled.

Linwë looked up, and their hot gazes welded together, grey and blue. "I said, Lord Duilin, that you think your title gives you the right to play with my sister's heart. I will tell you this too. You are a coldhearted and coldblooded whoreson who intends to use my little sister and then throw her away."

Duilin pounced on him then, like an enraged panther. He snatched the lyre away and smashed it against the pillar. It fell to the ground, demolished into splinters. Then Duilin seized the player, jerking Linwë upright by the collar of his jerkin. "I would kill you," he snarled into Linwë's face, "It is only because-"

"Only because what?" a high clear voice demanded behind them. Duilin turned, letting Linwë go. Elyéta was coming up the stairs, her grey eyes wide and feverishly bright. "Pray tell me, Duilin."

Duilin said nothing. He felt his mouth dry up under the ferocity of her stare, and he dropped his eyes.

Elyéta was standing in front of him now, her black hair blown out of their braids by the wind. The bushes around them danced in syncopated tidal waves, showing their pale undersides on the wild onslaught of the storm. An then it began to rain. It pounded down madly, and they were instantly drenched where they stood on the stairs.

"It is my time to speak!" she screamed at them over the tempest. "I am not a prize to be fought over! I am not chattel! And I am not some rope you can play tug-of-war on! I am a woman and you _will_ let me speak my mind!"

"Elyéta, no one said you were chattel!" Linwë cried, and would have said more, but Elyéta moved on him with wild quickness and slapped him on the face. It sent him reeling backward, holding his cheek, a stunned hurt in his eyes.

"I said it was my time to speak!" she flared back. "You will never let me choose my own paths! You tried to play a mother and a father but you become a tyrant! Linwë, I love you, but it's time for you to let go!"

He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand warningly, her eyes dangerous. Rain poured over her face; it sheeted down on the streets. "Hold your peace!"

Linwë closed his mouth. Duilin, in some remote and completely calm island of his mind, thought she was crying, but could not tell. What Elyéta had done was so far from what he knew of her, he could only stare, his gaze riveted.

Not more than half of one minute had gone by. Never before had Duilin noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The clock says it is measured and constant, tick-tock, part of an orderly world; the clock lies. The past thirty seconds had passed like an hour, and still, his dazed mind, shocked out of its complacent rut could only reel around. He was reaching out his hand for her when she made a strange noise, half sob, half shout, and fled into the storm.

When the last flash of her blue dress was gone, his sense of time returned. Thunder shouting overhead, he snapped his head around to see Linwë with his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking and Duilin thought he was crying. He almost reached out to comfort, then snapped his hand back. This one had brought it on his own head.

He turned and ran after Elyéta.

* * *

He found her running pell-mell along a narrow stone bridge. Below, the pond was slate-gray, pocked with raindrops. The pale flowers on its surface danced a wild waltz, and Elyéta reeled against the polished stone side. The unsympathetic cacophony of rain drowned out his footsteps, so she spun around in surprise when he touched her shoulder. The look on her face shriveled his heart.

"Elyéta-" he began and got no further.

"Close your mouth, Lord Duilin," she said, in an icy voice that carried below the storm instead of over it. "Close your mouth because whenever you open it you lie."

Her words forced him a step back, and his own anger began to boil up. "Elyéta, it wasn't like that!"

She slapped him with stinging force. "Close your mouth!" she shouted at him. "If my brother was only right about one thing, it was you! All your nobility comes from your title and not your heart!"

He put a hand to his cheek, feeling the mark of her fingers. Her hair was plastered to her face, her blue dress black.

"You lied to me about Linwë!" The shriek of the storm carried her voice up an octave. "I think you lied to me about everything else, Duilin!" Now he knows she is crying, and his eyes sting with their own tears, but he won't cry, not yet, not yet, and maybe he won't need to.

"You lied to me!" she cries, again. "And I wish by the West I never have to see you again!"

He drifts away, to that calm island in his mind, and weeps there inside, watching her lips move, deaf to her words, feeling his heart breaking and breaking and breaking.

Glass hearts? Were not all hearts, in the end, glass? So perfect and so fragile and so hard to fix?

He was drowning in a sea of uncried tears. So he walked away, feeling blank and cold inside, and wanting to cry but not able too.

Elyéta watched him go, and then crumpled onto the bridge, hugging her knees to her chest and began to cry, raw sobs that choked her throat and did not allow her to breathe.

Thunder whacked above her, and the rain pounded down, cold and cruel.

* * *

 **So... seems that those two finally got that Elyéta were really angry. What will happen? Will she ever forgive her brother? Will she ever forgive Lord Duilin? What will Lord Duilin will do? What Linwë will do? What will happen in the end of this romantic tragedy?**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys! They're the utmost important!**


	33. The mystery is revealed

**Hello guys!**

 **So... the moment has arrived when finally Laura's true identity will be revealed. What will happen? Why and how will be it revealed?**

 **Before starting I want to thank Celridel for being a so great beta as well as the reviews of d'elf.**

 **Also I want to add that all your reviews will be welcome… now, let's begin!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 33: The mystery is revealed**_

Yesterday's storm had passed like a bad dream, and today Gondolin was bright and pristine in the afternoon sun. Tumladen stretched away, a brilliant green sea through which two horses galloped. These were the moments that both Glorfindel and Laura loved the most. When Tumladen became a green blur, and the wind sung its old alchemy in their ears, they found freedom and in freedom, they had found peace.

Those times when Glorfindel had turned away from her because of a fear he had never truly admitted not even to himself, had passed. He cherished their friendship and was delighted in the new person Hwa-Young was becoming.

Laura's eyes had been opened by being served a taste of her own medicine. When Glorfindel had pushed her away, it had hurt her more than she thought it could. Her own wanton cruelty had suddenly been unmasked to her, and she not only forgave Glorfindel, but she was sorry as well, though she had never said it.

* * *

 _Flashback_

 _"Alright, Lord Glorfindel, you better tell me what's happening. And you better have a good explanation or you and I will have a serious problem," Laura said, her voice hard. She pulled her hand back like he'd bitten her. As if to make doubly sure he wouldn't grab her hand again, she folded her arms over her chest, glaring at him._

 _Glorfindel let his arms fall to his sides, words deserting him. Her eyes searched him, demanding an answer….waiting._

 _"What it means is that you are my elf-friend," he said cautiously_

 _"Elf-friend?" She repeated, with the taunting scorn in her tone he heard so often and hated so much._

 _But he had only smiled, accepting it. "Yes. This is what happens with those we considered our friends."_

 _She had tilted her head a little to left, dissecting his words and wanting him to know it. "You told me you weren't the one causing that….feeling."_

 _Glorfindel shrugged his apologies. "I did not know what was happening at the time," he said reasonably, hoping that this would save him from what he intuited in his heart._

 _"Oh, that's a very nice story," she said. "Come on, Lord Glorfindel, do you think I'm a fool? Just a silly, naïve firíma? Try again."_

 _"I never took you for a fool, but you haven't let me finish my explanation," he said and began making provision for a rocky road he could not foresee. "To be called an Elf-friend is the highest one we can bestow on anyone. They are those that we would give our lives for. It does not mean love," he hurried on defensively. "It means a very deep friendship. That is all there is, Hwa-Young," he finished._

 _Laura's face was expressionless. Glorfindel knew she was weighing her words, trying to find something suspicious. He stared back at her, and felt relief when the mask dropped from her face and she said, "How hard was it to just tell me that in the first place?"_

 _"As I said, this title is very rare. We do not gift our friendship lightly. I had to be sure, so I went away to think about it. But now I am sure, and I want to call you my Elf-Friend, Hwa-Young," he said with a smile, as something deeper told him she was much more than he would have dared to accept ... at least at that moment._

 _Laura rolled her eyes. "You still could have just said that in the beginning. But I forgive you…Elf-friend."_

 _"Thank you kindly, Elf-friend," he returned._

 _Laura stooped, picked up the rose and dropped it into his hand, taking care not to touch it. "Your consolation prize, elf-friend," she said_

 _Glorfindel laughed. "Thank you," he had said with a beautiful smile that had come from deep within his heart._

 _The woman smiled back at him, a frank smile, and mounted her mare once more, and Glorfindel followed._

 _End of flashback_

* * *

Glorfindel and Laura had led their horses to a nearby pool to drink. Glorfindel was rubbing down Valorocco with a handful of grass and when he looked up, he saw that Hwa-Young was looking west, her arms crossed and her face thoughtfully. He looked down quickly again, unable to stop the thought that flashed across his mind. The way the setting sun lit up her profile made her look…almost beautiful.

"This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen," she said suddenly, breaking the silence and startling both the horses and Glorfindel, who looked up at her again. He stood a little behind her, looking out across Tumladen. The sky was brilliant with crimson and gold, and the thin clouds were purple. It set the grass on fire, and although they stood in a hazy pool of pale pink thrift and yellow celandine, all around them Tumladen seemed to glow with its own inner light, ringed around by the black mountain Its beauty was so immense it was nearly frightening.

"I think it is the most beautiful place on this side of the Sea," he said softly, with real reverence.

"To think I could have ever hated this place!" she said disbelievingly.

"I do not think anyone could ever hate it here," he answered, and that was when Ecthelion rode up. "Glorfindel! Hwa-Young!"

"Lord Ecthelion," Laura answered, returning his smile.

"What is wrong, my friend?" Glorfindel asked, seeing his friend's face.

"We need to return to the city now," Ecthelion answered. "Mount your horses."

Glorfindel would have laughed, but Ecthelion's face told him it was no laughing matter. As a warrior first, Glorfindel knew it was better to act first, question later. "Come on, Hwa-Young. Get your mare. We are leaving," he said.

"Why?" she demanded. "I have not seen anything."

"That is alright. Just get your horse." Glorfindel answered quietly.

Ecthelion had not dismounted, now he leaned forward. "Hwa-Young, do as he says. We think there are Orcs in the valley. Come now,"

"But-" she protested.

"We're not asking you, Hwa-Young!" Snapped Lord Glorfindel "We leave _right now_!"

But the young woman did not move. She took a deep breath, and then muttered, "Oh, shit."

""They have surrounded us," Ecthelion murmured. Purple dusk enveloped the field.

"Not yet," Glorfindel said grimly. Unsheathing his sword with one hand, he grabbed Hwa-Young's arm with the other and shoved her behind him, between him and Ecthelion. Protected as she could be.. "Where are the bastards?"

"Hold, Glorfindel," Ecthelion said. "Can you smell them now?" They all could, that familiar reek of decay. The grass swayed, and then a shriek, guttural, atavistic, a horrible echo of Turgon's call to arms, split the dusk. Tall, still pale from the dungeons, the orcs ran towards them, defiled and defiling. Clad in scaled armor, wielding scimitars and black bows, they made an ever-tightening circle around the three.

"Varolocco!" Glorfindel shouted, above the battle-clamor. "Take Hwa-Young! You will bring help!"

Laura looked first to the horse, and then to Glorfindel. The part of her that had been nurtured for so long-the assassin that looked out for herself first and foremost told her to obey. If she stayed, she would have to fight, and to fight meant to reveal. But there was another part, a part she had put in a coffin long ago, but that Glorfindel had somehow resurrected. ' _You are friends,'_ this part clamored at her, rebuking, denying, defying. _'Do you even remember what the word means, Laura Kinney? Friends mean people who take care of you and people you take of! Friends mean people who don't lie to you! Friends are people you don't lie to!'_

She saw the goblin behind aiming a black-fletched arrow at Glorfindel's back, and her head simply had no more room for thoughts. She lunged for Glorfindel, pushing him aside, and there was a pulpy _thump_ as the arrow buried itself in her belly.

Glorfindel had been shoved to his knees by the ramming force Laura had pushed him with. He looked upon hearing the soft, horrible thud, and fear rose like blood in his throat. "No! Wait!" he said aloud, his hands growing cold. Then the woman was sitting up, pulling the bloody arrow out of her stomach with a grimace of pain. Black fluid, Orcish poison trickled down her side as the wound began close, knitting itself together in seconds.

The grimace stretched her thin lips into a smile now, a dangerous and awful smile that horrified Glorfindel. She rolled to her feet in one motion, the arrow clutched in her hand, and leaped on the archer, who stood aiming his bow ten feet away. She crashed into him, knocking him over, ramming the arrow into the Orc's eye. Then she jerked it out, and slit his throat with the tip. Blood spurted in a crimson spray, soaking her dark clothes.

Then she spun on the other orcs who had crowded around her with a bloodthirsty ferocity. When the arrow broke, she rammed both halves into an orc's eyes and then shoved him away.

Now she stood, encompassed by corpses. She clenched her first, and from the knuckles of both hands emerged metalic claws, while talons from her feet ripped free of her shoes. She stood with her legs apart, knees bent, and her arms flexed.

Then the world turned red.

There was screaming, screams of pain, calls of to rally, shrieks of challenge. Glorfindel and Ecthelion fought back to back, cutting a line through the phalanx than doubling back, mowing them down like hay before a scythe. Laura fought alone, with the cruel strength of a tiger's charge, hacking viciously.

Glorfindel jabbed his sword through the goblin rushed at him, then turned sideways with his hand on his belt, using the knife to swipe the tender throat of another. He saw Laura slice downwards with her claws, releasing an orc's guts, then stab it through the heart. She looked feral then and when she looked at him, it seemed like she did not recognize him, and he was both angry and afraid.

* * *

Tumladen was silent again, buried in a late grey twilight. There was a breeze, but even that could not carry away the heavy reek of death.

Laura straightened, her clothes tattered and matted with gore. Glorfindel saw a glimpse of ruthless delight in her eyes, and it chilled him. Then it winked it, and she dropped her eyes. He saw her face change, crumple inward and give way to an enormous sadness.

She approached and opened her fists. The claws retracted with a metallic grating. She held out her hands to be tied, and said in a dull, hollow voice, "My name is not Hwa-Young but Laura Kinney, and I surrender unconditionally."

* * *

 **What a way to reveal herself! Just for helping her friend when she could just ran away. Seems that Laura indeed feels something for Glorfindel, at least a very deep friendship.**

 **And what is stranger… the fact that she surrounded unconditionally. Why did she do it? What will happen next?**

 **Waiting your reviews, guys! They're the food for this story!**


	34. X-23

**Hello guys! Sorry for the delay but finally! Here's the next chapter. Let's see what's the story behind Laura's past.**

 **By the way, the story has several elements from different places (the story of Laura's past), aaaaand I want to thank Celridel for her immense help.**

 **Also asking for your reviews and... now let's go…!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 34: 'X-23'**_

She stood in the Council Hall, under the cold scrutiny of twelve lords, manacled and loaded with chains. The gorgeous sunset she and Glorfindel had admired so much had faded, and now the moon was rising in its house of silver silence, casting long shadows the lanterns could not dispel.

* * *

It was a long time until Turgon spoke, and his voice was an outrage in the stillness.

"Who are you?"

"Laura Kinney," the woman repeated, her face coldly impassive. Gore was drying on her clothes and hands, and there was a streak of blood across her cheek like barbarian war paint.

"Laura Kinney," Turgon repeated cynically.

"Yes. I don't have a reason to lie to you, your Majesty." There was a tinge of mockery in her voice, although her face was expressionless. "I dropped my façade. Why would I try to carry it on?"

"So why would you lie to us at all?"

"Maybe because it was so easy," Laura countered. "You might not have been the easiest to trick, but you certainly were not the hardest." She felt the frisson of anger that statement created and smiled inwardly.

"Who then have you lied to?" The King asked. His tone was reasonable, even equitable.

"A better question would be: who haven't it?"

"I am asking the questions. Please answer them."

Laura shrugged. "I have lied to more people than you can ever imagine. I've killed them too. I have killed animals. I have killed men, woman, children, and babies. I've tortured them all too," she added casually.

Exclamations of disgust and horror filled the chamber until the King raised his staff. "Why?" he asked coldly.

"It was my job," Laura answered. "I was a mercenary, and an assassin."

"And who gave you that task?" Penlod asked, shocking out his typical gentle silence.

"The Facility. I was created there."

"You were born there?" Turgon asked.

"No. Created. Unlike you, I was not born because mummy and daddy loved each other. I was made there because they wanted a killer. Nature and nurture."

"You are a monster," Glorfindel spat.

"And you are so naïve!" she flashed back. "You all are, but you most of all, Blondie!"

"Save your tongue!" Turgon said harshly. "You answer to me, and to me alone."

"I answer to no one."

Duilin stood up. "Shut your mouth, woman! You are facing the High King."

"Or what?" she mocked. "Are you going to scold me, Duilin?"

One grasshopper jump brought the Swallow less than a step away from Laura, his short-sword already drawn.

"What?" She said. "Are you going to kill me? Go ahead, try it… if you can." She clenched her fists, and her claws materialized. In a movement so unanimous it was choreographed, the Lords drew their weapons, making a circle around her.

Laura laughed sourly. "You can't kill me. Look." In a blur of movement, her claws moved, one slashing her throat, the other piercing her chest. A fountain of blood spouted out, spilling down in her clothes and pooling onto the floor. She withdrew her claws, and the wounds knit themselves back together in the blink of an eye. "You forgot that little detail," she said, a horrible smile ghosting her lips. "You can't kill me, you can't poison me. I do not grow old or get sick. I can live for weeks without food or water. So what you are going to do with me, my dear Elves?"

She opened her hands, and her claws retracted with a dry, metallic sound. "I said I would surrender, so let's keep this little interrogation going. But you need to figure out what you _are_ to do with me."

"Why did the Unnamed send you, and how did you find the Hidden City?" Turgon asked at last.

"Who, Morgoth? Don't know the guy." Laura looked around her, sensing the sudden threat, and realized she might have gone too far at last. "Ok…I mean, the Unnamed One. I don't know him."

"What about the Facility?" Ecthelion asked at last. "What is that, and where is it built?"

Laura's blank mask seemed to crack for a moment. "You want to know about that?" she asked coldly. "Fine, I tell you. Then you'll know how I really am."

* * *

"Looks like the boss is pissed," said a doctor, standing by the fluid-filled cell that housed on of their fetal experiments, as his colleague checked the embryo's vital signs.

The Facility was a secret organization oblivious to any government liaison.

"Yeah, he fought with Sarah Kinney again," remarked the other, straightening up and jotting a number down on his clipboard.

"Again?" the doctor asked. "I thought they got along! They were dating or something,"

"Well, no. The boss wants things done one way and Kinney wants them done another."

Sarah Kinney was an eminent doctor, who worked in Genomic Sciences and various branches of Biology. She had started as one of the many doctors who worked at the Facility, but because of her intellect, she had gone up the ranks until she had come to be in charge of Project X, the project that would create the perfect spy, mercenary and murderer to serve the Facility. her intellect she had gone up the ranks until she had come to be in charge of the 'X' project that was to create the perfect spy, mercenary and murderer to serve for the Facility projects.

Noticing the beauty and intelligence of Doctor Kinney, the director had fallen in love. A courtship had ensued, but it had become stormy because of the way he meddled with Kinney's project. At last Kinney had promised she would abandon the project if he didn't stop, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

And the Facility Director didn't like people telling him what to do.

* * *

 _Eight months later ..._

High screams rattled around the soundproof walls, forcing their way through air vents.

"One more push," the doctor said, standing over Kinney's bed of pain. "One more and it will be over, Sarah."

Sarah lay back, breathing hard with closed eyes, trapped in a jail cell of fear, confusion, and pain. She strained, she screamed, and then a baby's cry jolted her eyes open.

The nurse's back was turned, she was doing something with a blanket. Sarah caught her breath. Then the nurse turned, smiling, telling her it was a girl, it was healthy, it was beautiful. She showed Sarah a baby swaddled in white, bright green eyes and fluff of black hair.

Sarah shoved the nurse away with as much strength as she had left. "Get that thing out of here! Get that monster out!" she shouted.

"But-"

"I said get that little monster out of my sight!" Sarah screamed furiously.

"Do what she asks you," a male voice said. It was the father, the Facility director. He took the newborn away from the nurse and smiled down at Sarah. "You don't need to hate her, sweetheart. But if you really feel that way, you don't need to see her. This baby belongs to the Facility, right, X-23?"

The baby mewled, reaching out with a tiny hand to clutch at the Director's finger.

"Ah! You are strong, X-23!" the Director exclaimed, delighted. He turned to meet Sarah's gold glare. "Very good work. You have achieved what no one else could. Thank you for lending us your body."

"Take it away," she repeated.

"Of course," he said. He kissed her sweat-sheened forehead and then left with the newborn.

Sarah had lent her boyfriend her womb so that number 23 would live. All the other fetuses had died, but X-23 had been the exception. She was the apotheosis of a human, without defect. The Director intended to make her without a soul, too.

* * *

 _Three years later…_

"Well, well. I like it," said the Director, looking down at the three-year girl, then to the carnage she had created on the snow. A doe and her fawn were there, shredded into pieces, the snow flooded with their blood.

During those three years, the Facility had been training X-23. As soon as she could walk, she had been made to run marathons. She was born with stamina that surpassed an athlete's. Her skeleton was covered with adamantium, unbreakable metal. She had a pair of claws of the same metal hidden in her hands and another in each of her feet. She had perfect vision, an incredibly developed nose, and faultless hearing.

And from a very young age they had taught her to put into those elements into play; to catch and to kill. They had released the toddler into the woods with a ration of food and jacket. She had been given three days to hunt down the doe and her fawn.

X-23 never enjoyed her missions, but she had nothing else to do? She didn't know what to do than to hunt animals down…..and study. Since she could speak, she had been taught to solve complicated mathematical problems, historical data, knowledge in general that a high schooler would have only started to learn. That was all she knew. If they caught her playing, she was punished.

* * *

 _Five years later…_

She received her first torture class on her eighth birthday. She learned what places caused the most pain without being directly fatal. She also discovered two words that day: dad and mom. She had searched for their meaning, both in her mind, which already held a goldmine of information and outside. She had learned she had no dad, but she had a mom who worked at the Facility. Escaping from her quarters was not allowed, but they had taught her that too. So she left.

~.~

Sarah Kinney opened the door to her office, her green eyes surrounded with dark half-moons, exhausted and exasperated by the results of her latest project. She dropped into her leather chair, closing her eyes gratefully. The folder she was holding slipped from her hands as she did so, and she heard the papers whispering to the floor. She sighed, opening her eyes.

Then she pressed two hands to her mouth, choking back the scream. An eight-year-old girl was standing by her chair, holding out the folder to her, smiling hopefully. "Hi, Mom."

Fear rose hot in Sarah's throat, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage.

"Don't panic, Mom. I will not hurt you. I came to greet you," the girl continued, still smiling. She spoke in short, stilted sentences. "Your folder fell."

Her green eyes still warm with hope, she reached towards Sarah. "Here you go."

Kinney jerked her hand away in repulsion and horror. "Get away from me, you freak!" she screamed, jumping out of her chair.

The girl stared at her. "But Mom…..I just came to greet you. They never let me greet you," she said plaintively. "They don't let me greet anyone unless it's part of the mission."

"I don't care." Sarah snapped, circling so the desk was between her and the girl. "You're a monster. Now get out!"

"But-"

"How many animals have you killed? How many people?" Sarah demanded, her voice dripping over with disgust and fury. "You are a monster!"

"I had to do it, Mom! It wasn't my fault, they told me too!" the girl sobbed. "I didn't cause I wanted too!"

"So if they tell you to jump off a cliff, you'll do it?" Sarah said. "Well, I hope to God they do! And I'm not your mother! You make me sick!"

Tears flowed down the girl's face. She had read that a mom loved her child, took care of them, made them happy…

"But mom, you gave birth to me," she pleaded.

"I was impregnated with you!" Sarah shrieked at her. "Those months were a nightmare! You were inside my body and I had to go to sleep with you for eight months! Get out! Get out! You disgust me!"

The girl was holding out her hands, choking on her tears. She was going to speak when a noise told her she had to leave. So she returned to her cell, dragging a broken heart behind her. It didn't save her from punishment. Sarah went to the Facility Director and told him everything. They took her to the torture room, one that she would come to know very well. There they stabbed her, shot her, inflicted the most painful and humiliating words on her, the hardest and most hurtful words, the most frightening physical and psychological martyrdoms. And every time she cried, they doubled the pain.

* * *

 _Sixteen years later ..._

"Your mission is to kill this Shakespearean literature teacher," said the director, sipping at a cup of coffee. "He has found information that, if it comes to light, could endanger the world order, and therefore us. You have six months to make a psychological profile, seduce him, get the info, and kill him."

X-23 nodded and then left the office, taking the same flight her victim took, from the US to England. As she traced him, she read Shakespeare.

By then, the name of X-23 was a symbol of terror and horror. There was no better assassin or mercenary than her. No matter how intelligent and insightful her victim was, he always fell into her web. No matter how careful he was, she always left behind a try of blood. Her cold cruelty was well known and every order that the Facility gave her was an order she obeyed to the letter.

One of the many works she read was _Hamlet_. The story of the Danish prince caught her attention. The love he had for Ophelia…that was interesting but totally foreign to X-23. She didn't know what love was, not even friendship.

Yes, there were interesting things. The way the uncle killed his brother? He was clever, although there simpler and quieter methods could have been used.

But there was something else, a phrase that shook her life from the ground up: _'To be or not to be, that is the dilemma'_. Those words had been the catalyst for a change she would never have expected.

 _'To be or not to be, that is the dilemma'_. It was the rhetorical question that Hamlet asked himself once his father's ghost demanded revenge for his murder. The Danish prince knew that vengeance would trigger a series of disasters that would bring many consequences to many, including his beloved Ophelia; but he could not ignore his father's order. That phrase was etched in her memory, to the extent that she made a decision. If she liked being the Kill Machine, which she was called at the Facility, she would keep on being the Kill Machine. But if she didn't, she would change. Hamlet had been able to choose. He had chosen poorly, but he had chosen. She would also choose her path for the first time.

And so it had been.

First, she decided to be the 'Kill Machine' that everyone feared and knew, but that had brought no comfort or joy. It was the same emptiness inside.

Her second objective had been an entire family, with two children.

' _Please, not the children!'_ the father had begged on his knees, while the mother clutched her two children.

X-23 looked at him and then said, _'Only take what you need. You have five minutes,'_ she said shortly.

The man looked at her, tears frozen into his beard.

 _'Do you want me to kill you?'_ she demanded. _'I don't have a lot of patience.'_

When they had assembled outside the house, X-23 had singled the father out, and said, 'You have diamonds. Don't flood the market with them, stay hidden the rest of your life. If you don't, it's not my problem.' Then she had shoved him away, 'Get out of here!'

But before they had disappeared into the darkness, the father had turned and said, 'Thank you.'

X-23 had tried. Tried to start a new life. Tried to change.

But the Facility had found her. The Director had brought her to a room, smiling. "Come here, X-23. I want to see something."

And at the press of a button, an iron curtain opened, revealing that the family she had tried to save.

"I have to admit that you are excellent at everything, but in lying to save someone you are not," he said, "Did you think you would get away with it? We know what you are and what you are not, and you are not someone who saves. You are someone who destroyed."

She was looking at the terrified family, huddled in the corner of the snow-white room.

At of the corner of her eyes, she said the director take his hand out his pocket, holding a control with a red button in the middle.

"No!" she screamed, and then was pushed from behind into the room. The last thing she reminded was the wide blue eyes of the children.

The director of the Facility had activated her feral instinct, subliminal order that went against all her will and turned her into a true animal that shattered, gutted and dismembered in the wildest way that existed. She could do nothing to stop until the director of the Facility pressed the control button again.

The room was red like grana, pieces of meat and entrails scattered everywhere, silent witnesses of the carnage she had committed. She reeled against the bloody wall and had wanted to cry. She had tried to right by them, and…oh god.

"You see, X-23?" The director said patronizingly "You were not created to save. You were created to destroy, kill, for that you were created. Don't expect to be the hero now, after all ... who would you think you've tried to change? Now, be a good girl and go to the torment room … you may need a couple of lessons. "

For her that had been like death. She felt alone, helpless and her nascent hope disappeared. But there was someone who had realized this. It was Sarah Kinney who for the first time realized who this young woman really was. And she wholeheartedly regretted the damage she had done so many years ago and swore to herself that she would save her from the pit in which the director of the Facility had just sunk her.

* * *

 _One month after…_

A ... 'gift' so to speak, came to X-23. The title of the book was _'Pinocchio'_ , a book that she had never read before. The story told about the life of a pinewood doll called Pinocchio, who longs to be a real child. A fairy tells him that this will be the case if he behaves well. Unfortunately, Pinocchio behaves very badly. He abandons his elderly father, steals from him, does not go to school, drinks and smokes, and falls lower and lower, until, finally, he acknowledges his mistake and after a series of adventures, Pinocchio reunited with his father and becomes an exemplary son. And one good night, the fairy returns and tells him that, since he is now a good son, he has earned a reward, and makes him a real child.

That shook X-23. Since she had read _Hamlet,_ she had become different. She was more ... human, she thought things over, did not follow orders to the letter without a word. She obeyed them because she didn't want to be tortured or punished, but in her mind, there was always the thought of changing. She also wanted to be a real girl, of flesh and blood that could choose, not the wooden doll that was a puppet to the Facility.

When she knew who gave it to her, X-23 was stunned. Sarah Kinney had sent her the book, and also a note, to note give up. That just as Pinocchio had achieved his goal and finally be a real child, she would also achieve it. And since then, the doctor, although secretly, was looking for ways to cheer her up and make her see that one day she would change, she could run away and be a real girl.

* * *

 _Six months later…_

But the director was no fool, and although he had no evidence that there was communication between Dr. Kinney and X-23, he suspected it and was willing to kill his former lover through X-23.

Following his hunch, the director spied more and more on both of them, but he had taught X-23 too well. and most likely he would have discovered them before if it wasn't because X-23 knew perfectly well how to avoid it.

But they were discovered, but not because of a failing on X-23's part.

The X-Men were a group of people who had supernatural abilities, who could do things that no one else could do and used those skills to fight for the common good. To do this, they recruited all the people who had such skills: _'gifted youngsters'._

Unfortunately, Sarah's meeting with X-23 coincided with X-Men attacked the Facility. Their leader, Professor X, had detected the location of X-23 and wanted to rescue her.

Knowing that they had at last been discovered by the director, the doctor interposed and began to argue with him, and for the first time, had called X-23 ' _her daughter',_ which enraged the director; especially when he realized that X-23 considered Dr. Kinney as her mother. Although he knew that almost all was lost know, he pressed the button and tried to leave.

Sarah, already mortally wounded, shot him in the head, and then deactivated the control.

When X-23 realized what he had done, she began to cry for the first time in her life. She would never be a real girl anymore. Pinocchio had been a good son, but she ...She had just killed his own mother!

However, with her last breaths, Dr. Sarah Kinney told her that she was very wrong. One day, she would become a warrior who always won. She apologized for never giving her a name and named her 'Laura' in memory of the laurel plant that represents victory, and gave her daughter her last name. 'Laura Kinney,' she said and died.

The X-Men came and took her to Mansion X, where Professor X through his telepathic power, realized that she had not murdered her mother for pleasure, but because she had been forced by her feral instinct; so the first thing he had done had been to erase that instinct completely.

* * *

 _Four years later…_

Laura Kinney, still known as X-23 at the time of the fight against different enemies, now used her wonderful abilities to help the X-Men. Now she was leading a different life, doing good, protecting the weak; but that did not mean that her past did not pursue her. Nobody loved her. They didn't even appreciate her, so she decided to protect herself, and lock herself up. And she promised herself that she would not allow anyone to ever get in.

* * *

 **So, not a nice past. Is not a wonder why Laura has such temper. However, the strange thing is that Glorfindel managed to get in little by little as well as Maeglin. In the next chapter we'll see the end of this chapter and the deliberation of the Elf-lords.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys! They're the food of this story!**


	35. What we see

**Hi people!**

 **First of all, thanks for the reviews! They're very important for this story due they're the food of it and the Muse.**

 **Secondly, I want to thank Celridel's help who is a great beta.**

 **Thirdly, and as it was asked, we'll see the end of this sad story and the decision that takes the Elf-lords regarding Laura considering now the true story of her past as well as her true identity.**

 **So... let's go…!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 35: What We See**_

There was a silence, but it was not a kind silence. It was a silence that hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. Fragments of thought, splinters of words, and droplets of silence spun into a kaleidoscopic jumble, spanning the room, until Turgon's voice shook it apart again.

* * *

"So where is your homeland?"

"America,"

"And where is that?"

"Continent of North America,"

Turgon looked at her, and there was ice in his eyes. "Keep talking, _firíma_. Maybe one day you'll manage to say something true."

Laura glared at him, "North Korea and Russia exist. So does America. It is not my fault you lack that knowledge. And for your information, my name is Laura Kinney."

"I will call you what I see fit," said Glorfindel from across the table. "And right now I say you are a lying bitch."

Laura looked at him, and the air curdled. A patina of unease flickered across the room.

Turgon only sighed. "Glorfindel, hold your peace. Kinney, you will answer to me. Riddle me this, how has no one else heard of these lands?"

Laura shrugged. "Not exactly my problem, is it?" Under the King's stare, like a stab of ice, she conceded and added, "I don't know."

A murmur of disbelief rose until the king raised the Staff of Doom. The silence was made as if by a charm.

"I read your books," Laura continued. "You guys seem to think you're God's panacea, but you _are_ fairly advanced. I've also gone over your maps quite thoroughly. The geography is nothing like what I know. I guess I'm very far away. Even Xavier can't place me with his _Cerebro._ "

"And what are they?"

" Xavier, also known as Professor X, is the leader of the X-Men. 'Cerebro' it is an… an… an object that allows him to find the person he wants just by concentrating."

Turgon looked at her with cool disbelief. "So where do the X-Men hail from?"

"From different countries. The majority comes from America; but some from China, France, Russia, Japan, Egypt, and so on. "

"We have not heard of these lands either," said Lord Ecthelion "and I assure you, Laura Kinney, that you are not the only one who has read all the books we have in Gondolin."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "I know that, Lord Ecthelion. I know that among all those present, you are the most cultured, but I can assure you that all the kingdoms of which I have spoken exist. You call your world _Ennor_. Mine is Earth. Maybe you've read about it," she retorted, a tinge of mockery in her tone, then said. "I don't think I'm on Earth anymore. To be completely honest, I think I am in a different realm."

"So how did you get here?" Duilin goaded. "Are we another one of your missions?"

Laura looked at him bitterly. "I would watch your words, Lord Duilin. Remember, I was created to kill."

Duilin stood up, grinning wolfishly. "If that is a challenge, I accept, _firíma_ ,"

"Enough!" Exclaimed King Turgon "we will not get carried away by your threats, nor will we allow you to make a scene here again."

Laura only looked at him, emotionlessly, and Glorfindel realized the shell was closing once again, likely never to open. He felt desperate, impotent rage to see the way his work was falling apart. All those years of effort would be buried in eternity, and terror took hold of his fëa.

"Laura," he said, trying to maintain a calm tone of voice, despite the frustration and disappointment, "How did you get there? How did you discover our city? "

She just looked at him without saying anything, doing nothing, just in front of Lord Glorfindel's blue eyes, a visor had been raised, until he could see a flash of immense sadness and remorse. And there was shame there too, until the visor closed completely.

"Won't you answer me?" He asked.

"No,"

"Then answer me," said a soft baritone voice. It was Maeglin, standing up and speaking for the first time. Laura looked at him for a long time and finally said,

"I don't know how I got here, nor I have any idea that this city existed." A frown line wrinkled her brow. "I remember I was running from an enemy of the X-Men. I got away without trouble, but instead of being in the mountains, I found myself running in a forest. I was surprised, of course, but I decided I would be safe here. I wasn't for long. There was a horrible smell, like a corpse…an Orc. A group of them attacked me. One of them stabbed me with a poisoned arrow. So, in a nutshell: no, I have no idea how I got here. And believe me, it was not my intention to discover a hidden city."

"Who are these 'X-Men'. Are you on the side of the Unnamed One?" Maeglin asked.

"No," Laura replied, "Where I come from there is no 'Unnamed One.' The X-Men are dedicated to protecting the weak and upholding good."

"And why do you not say _us_? Are you not a part of them?"

"I am not a part of anything," Laura replied. "I walk alone, I use myself. Who would want to befriend me, my dear Elf-Lords? I don't believe you would."

"One of us did," Turgon said, looking towards Glorfindel. The young Lord was staring at Laura with a mixture of anger and hot betrayal.

"Yes, and I lied to him and betrayed his confidence," Laura said blandly, even if her soul was broken inside. "So I walk alone, and I use myself."

Glorfindel was tempted to talk about Remy, but he knew that this would be a grievous error, so he held his peace.

The King gestured to Rog. "Take her to the cellars. We need to talk alone."

Rog stood up, easily towering over Laura, and took her arm.

* * *

"Well, my lords, what is your advice?" Turgon asked once Rog had returned.

"She should be dead," Rog flashed back. "What kind of beast does those things without remorse?"

"But men can change, easier than Elves," observed Galdor, the gentlest of the Lords.

Both Rog and Duilin looked at him with mild contempt.

"Once a killer, always a killer," Duilin retorted. "And why are we going on the premise any of what she said is true?"

"Why would it be a lie?" Egalmoth countered. "Considering how she helped Glorfindel and Ecthelion, what would be her motive?"

Duilin raised his eyebrows eloquently, looking at the dark stain on the floor.

Turgon turned to Ecthelion, who sat with his brows in straight lines of thoughts. "What do you have to say about this, my friend?" he asked.

Ecthelion looked up, his manner quiet and precise, a calming influence in the room. "There is nothing in our records about the lands she names," he answered.

"She claims she is from another realm?" broke in Duilin. "What of that?"

Ecthelion's voice chilled slightly at the interruption. "I don't know, my Lord. I don't think any of us do. Perhaps you should be slower with your tongue and quicker with your thoughts."

Penlod took up the conversation smoothly before Duilin could speak. "What I wish to know is the coming of the Orcs coincide with the coming of the woman. Was it a diversion?"

"No," said Glorfindel. He had been looking at the stain on the floor. Now he looked up, his voice full of a quiet disappointment and a sadness that was so rare on his face. "I don't think so. She dropped her façade to save my life when she could have escaped. Why would she do that if she was in league with the Unnamed?"

"Perhaps she did because her mother was right," Maeglin said. "Maybe she does have a good heart."

Rog shook his coppery head; Duilin laughed out loud. "Lord Maeglin, there are so many reasons she could have done it, and none of them prove she has a heart, let alone a good one."

Maeglin locked eyes with him, his dark gaze a probing depth. "Mercy, Lord Duilin. Laura did not do that so that we would show her mercy. She believes she is not worthy of that. She did for Glorfindel. That was I believe."

"I think Lord Maeglin is right," said Lord Salgant, finally breaking the silence, and, as always, siding with the Prince. "She was born into a dark place, but you cannot choose where you enter the world."

Maeglin's glance frosted over Salgant in a flash of flat contempt. "Or perhaps she wanted to begin anew," he continued, addressing the other Lords. "The first time I spoke to her, she told me that she had read a story about a young woman who had a very dark past. People left her, because she thought she couldn't change, even though she wanted too. I asked her what happened, and she said the story was not ended yet. I told her to have hope."

"And what was her answer to that, sister-son?" Turgon asked.

"That she didn't see any hope in it, but that my words encouraged her"

There was another long silence.

"Glorfindel, you were the one who dealt with her the longest. Surely you will know something that we don't know yet," said Ecthelion at last, looking at his friend.

"I only know two things," replied the Lord of the Golden Flower. "She lied to me and she saved my life. I considered her my elf-friend and now… " he trailed off.

"I understand you feel hurt, but we need to know all that we can about this woman," Turgon said gently.

The half-Vanya remained silent for a few minutes, remembering everything that had happened, both good and bad. And he realized that many times, she had told him who she was, but he had never been able to see past the veil.

"She made many small comments," he said at last. "About who she was, or what she had done, but I never truly understood them. And I never would have believed she dedicated her life to death and pain. She was strange….but she didn't….it was not…..like that." he finished inadequately.

Duilin turned and addressed Turgon. "My Lord, we seemed to have missed the most important question of all. What shall we do with the woman?"

"Death," said Rog. "A quick merciful one, to be sure, but she does not deserve life." Duilin nodded.

Ecthelion looked at them, his grey eyes thoughtful but also judging. "Many that die deserve life, and many that live deserve death. Can you give that to them? If not, be not so hasty to dole out judgment."

"Eye for an eye, hand for a hand, life for a life," Duilin flashed back. "She admitted to killing babes and children. How does that excuse her from the same fate?"

"Circumstances are everything, Lord Duilin," said Maeglin. "Who is to say she would have done the same if she had been born in a different place? Does that take away her right to life? If she has broken her ties with the monster, does that still make her a monster? If men gave her a second chance, shouldn't we, the Firstborn, allow her that much?"

There was a murmur of assent. Maeglin had a way with words, and although he never raised his voice, his tone, calm, assertive, and melodic, was infinitely persuasive.

The King looked around the oval table, and read accord. "As for you, Duilin?"

Duilin shook his head. "I cannot. The vote is cast against me, I see that. I told you when we let the woman in that you would always have my loyalty, but you do not have my heart. I still believe our softheartedness will be the bane of our city."

Rog shook his head and sighed. "How will we keep her? We cannot let her wander the city?"

"No. We will double the watch on her cottage, like we did when she first came. If we are to let her live, let her live like a man and not like a rat trapped in a cage," said Ecthelion.

Turgon nodded. "Then let us do that. We cannot leave the city, we cannot kill her, and we cannot have her wandering around Gondolin."

"What about the orcs, my lord? We cannot leave without taking into account," said Duilin moodily.

"Certainly," Turgon replied, "That will be your task since I believe you wish to stay away from the woman. Speak to the Eagles, review our defenses, and examine the Gates. Ecthelion, bring Laura Kinney to us."

* * *

When she was escorted into the Council Chamber once again, Turgon watched the woman for a while, studying her armored face. She held his gaze in return.

"Laura Kinney, we have deliberated long and decided a life for a life. You saved Glorfindel's life, and we will give you yours," Turgon continued, seeming to ignore her. "But you will stay in our city, under constant watch, as punishment for your past evil and the betrayal of our trust these years."

"It's not very convenient to keep me under constant surveillance," Laura answered flatly.

"We know you are a warrior, but think well before you attack any of your guards. And if you find a desire to flee, again, think well. We are not going to give you death, even though you are looking for it. Lord Glorfindel and my sister-son think your worthy of life. Do not let them down."

Laura made no sign, but inside, she was shattered into a plethora of pieces. The knowledge that Glorfindel had advocated her, even though she had betrayed him, made shame choke her. Before Glorfindel, her heart had been hard, with him it had been alive, but now it was simply broken. She wanted to fall to her knees and scream, but the tight control that had been instilled in her since babyhood was an iron rod strapped her back, making her stand upright.

"You will be locked in your cottage. You will not be able to get on the roof or go out to the gardens. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, Your Majesty," she replied.

"Good. Thank Lord Maeglin. It was his speech that saved your life," said the King. "Lord Egalmoth, take the prisoner to her cottage."

* * *

 **So... what do you think, guys? What do you think of Laura's attitude? And what do you think of the decision of the Elf-lords? What do you think of Lord Glorfindel's and Lord Maeglin attitude?**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	36. You're like a butterfly'

**Hi guys!**

 **Sorry for the delay, my beta and I have been very busy but finally... here's another chapter! Hopefully soon I'll upload the next one.**

 **So, this will happen after Laura's true identity is discovered. Here will be showed a new face of Lord Maeglin.**

 **We all know who was him and what he did but... he wasn't only the Son of the Wife-Slayer or the Half Dark Elf, he was in his moment a good friend... let's see what happens.**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys! As you know, they're the food of this story.**

 **Oh! And by the way, thanks for your useful reviews d'elf!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 37: 'You're Like a Butterfly'**_

 _Three years later…_

She watched the Sun track its course into the West, her head in her arms. Denuded trees surrounded her cottage, their naked shapes standing out from the snow like charcoal outlines. The sun was sinking below her line of sight, and a red light was seeping through the branches.

Laura wanted this to be over. She hated rotting in this hollow cube of stone, consigned to slow and deathless mercy.

Staring at the trees, now black silhouettes, she wondered, as she had wondered for months, what had happened at the council. They had wanted to kill her; she had wanted that too. They had wanted to lock her in a dungeon. She tried to encourage that idea. Yet somehow mercy was her undoing, and she sat in this pretty cottage.

She was sitting here because Glorfindel had spoken in her favor. Gondolin's Darling had stayed Turgon's hand, for some reason, and let her live.

And that was it. That was the end.

* * *

Maeglin stood on the cottage's threshold, his ash-streaked face bathed in the cold crimson of the dying sun. He was not looking forward to the encounter. At this point, the woman was like a sick dog, who sits in a dark corner, ready to bite if you put your hand in. But Alassë had insisted, both gravely and firmly, and Maeglin was used to doing whatever Alassë insisted on. She was like a lantern; so bright she showed him the good in others, and in himself. She gave him the approval no one else had ever given him, not even Aredhel. His mother had never wanted to be a mother. He had known this from babyhood, and it had made him feel cheated of something essential, something that Alassë was able to give to him.

He knocked on the door, a quick, firm rap. There was no sound from inside, but he could sense the woman's presence, a warm, living aura that her body gave off.

"Laura," he said, "Open the door, please. I need to speak to you."

There were footsteps. Then the door opened a crack and Laura looked at him with blank eyes. Those eyes made him worry for her. They were frozen over like winter puddles, biologic contraptions devoid of life.

"Can I come in?" he inquired gently, offering her a smile.

She didn't make any sign, only opened the door and stepped aside to let him pass.

The cottage was impeccably clean; it was the tenant that was in shambles. Her black hair was a fractious tangle, with a dull, dirty half-shine, and her face told him she had taken a giant stride away from life. Her eyes have frozen over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing them of their usual warmth. He knew she was in there but she was too far away, drowning in her uncried tears.

Maeglin dropped his smile and said, "I see you are not inclined towards niceties at the moment, so I will cut straight to the heart. I brought you a gift."

Laura stared at him, her face unresponsive. Maeglin held out an egg, a perfect ovoid the size of his hand, made of plain iron. It seemed to have no seams and no anomalies except a small flower-shaped piece at the peak. Laura glanced from him, to the egg, and then looked back at him with the same blank apathy. She took the egg when he held it out to her, and turned it over in her hands, looking for joints or unions. Eventually, she pressed the center of the tiny flower at the tip, and Maeglin watched the apathy drain from her face as the egg opened, unfurling to display a golden inside. Inside a beautiful butterfly spread its wings, forged from gold and set with many-colored gems. He smiled at her infinite astonishment and pointed to the window ledge, where the last rays of the dying sun still lay.

When she set it down, turning it so the light would shine on the butterfly's bejeweled wings, an iridescent rainbow sprang into being, illuminating the room with a myriad of colors.

After a minute Maeglin touched the woman's shoulder, and when she turned to look at him he watched her face anneal back into stone.

"You are wondering why I brought you this," he said. "I brought you the butterfly because you are like a butterfly. What was done to you kept you trapped inside a shell, but I believe inside there is a butterfly with a thousand colors on her wings. But the only way a grub becomes a butterfly is because she is willing to give up everything she knows and try to fly. You are arrogant and insolent, Laura, and if a fraction of what you told us was true, then you have done terrible things. But you also chose to save Glorfindel over saving yourself. Your first instinct was to help him, and I believe that shows you have a good heart."

"That's a sweet sentiment, Lord Maeglin," Laura said, her gaze locked on the butterfly again. The sun had set now, and all the light had drained from its wings. "But do you remember what else happened at the Council?"

"Yes, I remembered that you were cruel and stone-cold. But I believe that stems from how you see yourself."

"I am a killer. That's how society sees me and that's how I see myself," Laura said slowly. "And I don't believe killers should be forgiven."

"Neither do I, so let me tell you a story you have probably read about. Do you know what Fëanor and his children did? They slaughtered a city of innocents. And they were raised in paradise, not trained to kill. They were killers, but you were only a result of how you were raised. Laura, if you want to be forgiven, you have to forgive yourself. Accepting yourself and your past is the only way you can begin a new life."

He saw the woman's shoulders slump, and then a tear fell onto the butterfly's gorgeous wings. "Thank you," she murmured, in a low, choked voice, still not turning to him. "Thank you for remembering me, Lord Maeglin."

"Look at me," he instructed, and Laura slowly obeyed him. He smiled at her again and said, "My friends call me Maeglin."

Slow, warm gratitude spread across Laura's face, lighting up her eyes. She swallowed several times, and then muttered, "Thank you. Thank you for everything, Maeglin."

He nodded, and when he was at the door, turned back and said, "By the by, Alassë sends you her greetings."

Laura smiled as unexpected warmth rushed through her blood like a candle had been rekindled in her heart. Being forgotten was a kind of death, and it felt heavenly to be remembered.

"Have a blessed night, Laura," the Elf-Lord said and left. She stood at the window, watching him until he disappeared into the night, the egg in her hands. The butterfly was beginning to glitter again as the moonlight struck it, and it was at that moment she promised herself she would forgive herself, so society would forgive her, and above all, that Glorfindel would forgive her.

* * *

 **A face of Lord Maeglin that people didn't know, right? Let's see how this friendship develops. Which is quite interesting because firstly, Lord Glorfindel (Gondolin's Darling and the half-Vanya) became her friend when she used her facade; and it's now quite the opposite (the ugly duckling and half-Dark Elf) who has became her first friend.**

 **As always, waiting for your reviews, guys!**


	37. The Swallow and the Dove

**Hi guys!**

 **So... here's the next chapter.**

 **Let's remember that Lord Duilin suffered a great tragedy, now it's time to see the end of it. If it's for good or for bad.**

 **I want to thank Celridel for her immense help as a beta and friend. As well as I want to thank the reviews of d'elfe which are very deep, as well as the ones of tobiramamara.**

 **And now... let's go!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 38: The Swallow and the Dove**_

 _(Súlimë {March}, The Stirring)_

The wind was keen, but with an underlying warmth that promised a proximate spring. Duilin stood on the northerly wall, his blue eyes vague as he looked for old memories.

He stood on that wall each night, watching the moon rise in its house of silver silence, listening to the wind. _It's the sound that truly matters,_ Elyéta had told him, but he knew now that the sound that truly mattered to him was the sound of her voice. He had lost that. When he saw her in the palace, she passed by him without a sideways glance, an aura of icy indifference freezing his heart.

He wondered whether she had made peace with her brother. According to Ecthelion, Linwë had given up music entirely after the incident.

Duilin still recalled the bitter crash the lyre had made when he smashed it.

For a long time, he had pinned all the blame on Linwë. But after a while, anger gave way to reflection and he accepted that he was guilty as well. He had lost the only woman he could ever love because of his pride, and he was not angry anymore, only miserable. As much as he tried to forget her, he could not help climbing the wall each night, remembering when his beloved artist had rescued him from the storm in his heart.

* * *

"Who's there?" he called without turning around.

"It is I, my Lord," said a polite voice. Duilin felt the cold, hollow feeling in his heart lift, to be replaced by the first sparks of reborn anger.

"What are you doing here, Linwë?" he snapped, turning to stare at the Elf. Linwë was a little taller than the Elf-Lord, but suddenly Duilin seemed very large and very fearsome.

"I came up to take in the night air," Linwë replied. "I did not know anyone else was here. And since I see my presence irritates you, I will leave."

Duilin paused for a minute, taking in the sight before him. Linwë's voice was tired and consigned, and he seemed to have aged. His silver eyes were tarnished by a deep sadness, and something deep in Lord Duilin forced him to say, "If you wish to stay, Linwë, you are welcome."

Linwë looked at him quickly, as if him expecting a jape, but Duilin's face was as solemn as a gravestone.

For a long time, both Ellyn watched the Northern horizon without speaking. Duilin had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed stonily on the Encircling Mountains. Linwë stood with his hands folded behind his back, his eyes searching the skies. The sidereal clock of the stars revolved above them, counting an astral time that they could not comprehend.

* * *

"What brought you here, Linwë?" Duilin asked at last. "Gondolin has many walls; why did you come to me?"

"I need to speak with you," Linwë said, and Duilin shook his head. It was years too late for that.

Linwë continued, still looking at the sky. "It is our fault Elyéta is suffering. I want to know if you will put aside our past, so we can help her."

"We? Who is to blame for this?" Duilin demanded savagely. "One of Elyéta's hairs is more precious to me than Válinor! It was you who tricked me-you who hurt her because of your damned jealousy!"

Linwë swallowed, struggling to brace himself as sobs gathered in his chest, trying to choke him. "I-I did not know-"

"Well now you do," Duilin said, "And now I have lost her forever." He stopped then, not trusting his voice to continue.

"Perhaps not. Perhaps you should speak to her. Maybe she would relent," Linwë said falteringly, with no real belief in his voice.

"Does she speak to you?" Duilin asked.

Linwë shook his head. They lived in the same house, but as strangers now instead of siblings.

Duilin smiled thinly, shaking his head. "If she will not talk to you, what makes you think she will talk to me?"

"I'm sorry," Linwë said suddenly, staring doggedly at the sky.

"No," Duilin answered, putting a hand on Linwë's shoulder. "It is I who has to apologize. What I did that day...there was nothing noble about it. I hope that there can be peace between us."

He felt the younger Elf stiffen with surprise and sensed he was about to speak. Before Linwë could open his mouth, Duilin continued, taking away his hand and crossing his arms over his chest. "I fulfilled a duty I had towards Elyéta. Now please leave me alone."

There was a short, taut silence, then Linwë bowed and went down the wall. Duilin did not move, only stood and the eyes of the stars marked the tears that trickled down his cheeks.

* * *

The next afternoon was mild and wet, filled with misting rain and the earthy smell of new growth. Gondolin was in the white goblin spring of snowdrops and melting snow, but the warm wind promised more.

Duilin was walking quickly through the palace gardens, taking a shortcut towards his House's barracks. He felt enervated and hoped by the West that his second-in-command had kept everything in good order.

It was a long time before a familiar voice permeated his fatigued mind. It was Ardyl, Elyéta's bird, a cheerful, bright-eyed creature, with soft blue-and-black checkered feathers.

Duilin held out his hand, "Well met, little friend," he said, and Ardyl alighted willingly on his hand, still warbling.

"Ardyl!" a voice called and Duilin's heart leaped into his throat, choking him.

"Ardyl!" Elyéta called again, coming around the kugel fountain with a paintbrush in her hand. "Ardyl, where did you go..." She saw him, and her voice was wrestled into silence. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again without making a sound.

A rainy, bird-twittered silence enclosed them. The sphere turned over and over in the kugel fountain, kept aloft by a thin film of water.

Finally, Elyéta said, "My lord," with iciness that wicked all the warmth away from his heart.

"Elyéta," he replied. "I am sorry that I disturbed you." He held out his arm, hoping that Ardyl would return his mistress, but the bird perched quietly on his finger.

"Don't apologize," she said. "You can go where you want," The cold was radiating from her, frozen lace on his skin. "May I have my bird back, please?"

Duilin nodded mutely and approached her. She picked up Ardyl with small hands, careful not to touch his skin, and then turned, her hair an ebony cascade down her back.

"Elyéta," he said again, pleadingly. She stood still, not turning, but not walking away either. "Elyéta," he repeated as if her name was a spell that would make her face him. It did not. She stood statue-still, her head held high. "Please. I know it is too late to...mend what we had, but please forgive me. I'm not asking for you to give your love back. All I want is for you to forgive me."

Elyéta turned to him, her paintbrush in her left hand, holding Ardyl in her right. "If I say I forgive you, will you let me be, Lord Duilin?"

Duilin understood from her frozen eyes she meant every word. "I will let you alone, Elyéta. You don't have to forgive me; that's your choice. But please let me tell you one more thing."

She made a moue of distaste but did not walk away.

Duilin had never thought much of love, but when he did, he imagined confessing it at summer twilight, hearts blooming like flowers. But he stood in the rain and the mud on a March afternoon, and his own love was looking at him with cool toleration.

"I love you," he said simply. "I was going to offer you my fëa that day. That is all."

He watched the paintbrush slip from her fingers and fall on the ground. Her face seemed to crumble in itself, and her hands clutched to her chest as she dangled between realization and reaction. Then they flew to her face and she began to weep like a broken-hearted child.

Ardyl launched himself into the grey sky as Duilin carefully gathered Elyéta in his arms, holding her gently.

"I love you too," she whispered into his chest. "I love you so much. I always have."

In that embrace, the world stopped on its axis. There was no wind, no rain, no time. They danced on the ballroom floor of eternity, and eternity was bright and beautiful. No words were spoken because words were not needed anymore. Love is not a langue that can be spoken out loud. It is heard in the heart, and they heard love like the sky loves the birds, with open hands and infinite freedom.

He kissed her soft hair, and she lifted her face to him. He took her by the shoulders, hesitated an instant, and then kissed her lips, as rain danced around them.

At last, they broke apart, looking at each other, wondering what to do next.

"I assume now would be a good time to ask if you would accept my courtship?" Duilin said.

Elyéta giggled, "Of course I will,"

He smiled at her again. "I love you, my dove,"

"Dove?"

"Your eyes," he explained. "They are like dove feathers, like birds flying on sunlit days,"

"I didn't know you were a poet," she laughed.

Duilin smiled, took her face in both hands, and kissed her again.

* * *

A shadow turned away from a nearby balcony. Ardyl perched on its hand, for once silence.

"It seems the House of the Swallow will have a Lady soon," it said softly, "Come, my friend, let us get you a drink,"

And having said that, it entered the palace again, carrying Ardyl in its hands, who chirped as if he agreed with what that shadow said.

* * *

 **Seems that in the end things didn't finish so bad for the quick tempered Elf-lord. A very good luck he had!**

 **Waiting for your reviews, guys, they're utmost important!**


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